The Mixtape
by Calebski
Summary: A collection of song prompt one-shots featuring new pairings and continuations/ outtakes from existing stories.
1. Side A: Track 1

_A/N A collection of one-shots, all based on song prompts. Some of these will be random pairings, and some will be continuations (or possibly outtakes) of stories I have already completed. If you have suggestions for songs or pairings, you would like to see please PM me. This first one is from the Pictures of You Universe and takes place after the epilogue._

Winner "Lovely Ladies" Best Femslash Granger Enchanted Awards 2018

* * *

 **SIDE A - TRACK 1**

Pictures of You Universe [Antonin Dolohov x Hermione Granger]

* * *

I was feeling insecure  
You might not love me anymore  
I was shivering inside  
I was shivering inside  
Oh I didn't mean to hurt you  
I'm sorry that I made you cry  
Oh my I didn't want to hurt you  
I'm just a jealous guy

Jealous Guy - John Lennon [1988]

* * *

Antonin launched through the floo, in hot pursuit of his _extremely_ agitated wife. Despite her much shorter legs, her heel clad feet, and the changes that had affected her body Hermione was still managing to outstrip him. He had heard the others follow behind, into the fireplace but Antonin paid it no mind. Instead, he raced down the corridor until he got to the main stairs.

He had barely placed one foot on the bottom step when the curly-haired witch turned around from her place at the top, nearing the upstairs landing. "Antonin Alexei Dolohov, if you put _one_ more foot on this staircase, I am divorcing you," she spat, before spinning on her heel and continuing upwards.

Antonin did not enjoy the little whip noises that Yax and Rabastan called over his shoulder, especially as he had watched the younger Lestrange brother crawl on his hands and knees, in a muddy field, just the week before and all to aid Luna to catch a creature, she _thought_ she saw.

Turning to them, a scowl on his face he saw Reuben's eyes following Hermione's retreating form, his friend's _appreciation_ for her developing figure was likely to result in the death of one of them. Antonin had always been possessive and jealous when it came to his wife, but that had kicked into a higher gear when she had told him she was pregnant, carrying his children, two of them, as it turned out.

He had never expected his life would bring him this, when Hermione had agreed to marry him he would have been happy to live the rest of his days just the two of them, her company alone was far more than he deserved. But he couldn't deny the thrill it gave him when he found out. That first tiny picture, depicting the matching heartbeats was now just as worn as those he had already come to treasure.

Antonin had suppressed his need to wrap her in cotton wool in the first few months, Hermione already had enough to contend with Rodolphus and Severus, who were about ready to call a healer anytime she sneezed, but now, as she was just over six months, he was beginning to struggle. With her petite frame and the fact she was carrying two babies, she was a little bigger than most women at her stage, not that he would ever risk mentioning that, but she wouldn't slow down. She still raced off to Wizengamot sessions, chased around after Perdita at the farm and helped out at the shop. Though the later she did from an excessively comfy chair that Severus repeatedly insisted had _always_ been there.

Sucking up air through his nose Antonin began up the stairs, he knew how empty Hermione's threat had been, deep down at least. She always tried to run away from their arguments, and he never let her, he simply didn't like any prolonged period of unrest between them. He was aware that he had fucked up this time, admittedly not for the first time, or even the last, but that didn't mean he wasn't sorry. When he hesitantly walked into their room Hermione whipped her head to glower at him but otherwise said nothing in protest of his appearance, so he moved cautiously inside, keeping his eyes locked on her wand arm, he had learnt that lesson the hard way.

She was removing jewellery, aggressively, he wasn't quite sure how she managed it, and this wasn't the first time he had seen it, but he still marvelled every time. He moved to sit on the side of the bed, out of the way, knowing by now that as she was on a tear, she would want to pace about, though her movements were slightly awkward now.

Antonin tried to keep his eyes on the swell of her stomach, determined not to let them drift to a location slightly higher, she was taking off her heels and he, Yax, and _all_ of the others, knew just how pinpoint her accuracy could be with a shoe. One summer she had been wearing wedges when an argument broke out after dinner that resulted in Severus threatening to place a sticking charm on all of her footwear, after he got clumped on the side of the face with the cork bottom sandal.

Antonin took one last look at her dainty calf, elevated in the black patent pump before she removed it. Hermione had been complaining of discomfort all night, but he didn't see why he should have to put up with her moaning, he had told her not to wear them, and she had ignored him, grumbling something about someone called Thumbelina.

It had all been going so well.

Everyone had come to the house in Sochi, and they'd had a wonderful Christmas break. For once all of them were able to stay till New Year, and so Rodolphus had booked an evening out, dinner and dancing. The restaurant had been beautiful, the food excellent, everyone had looked resplendent in their formal wear. They rarely made such an effort anymore, family dinners were always very casual, but he had been keen this time, they didn't have long until the twins were born and he wanted to enjoy a night out with his wife while he still had her all to himself.

Hermione had picked a long velvet dress in the darkest green, it hugged around her swollen middle and Antonin, as ever, though she had never looked more beautiful. Sadly, he clearly hadn't been the only one to think so.

After the dinners had been cleared away, the tables were being relocated for dancing, Hermione had excused herself to go to the bathroom, one of the fifty or so trips she made in any four hour period. It was only when he looked around later when he realised she had been gone too long that he saw her, at the bar, he could only see her back for a second and then she turned, revealing her laughing face in profile and the man in front of her. A young man, an attractive young man, who had his hand on her arm and was laughing along with her.

"Oh, that doesn't look good," Reuben said aloud from next to him, glancing over his shoulder, the teasing tone in his voice was completely lost on Antonin as his rage grew.

Severus looked above his glass, "She will kill you if you go over there Antonin," he drawled, clucking his tongue impatiently as Antonin grasped the table cloth tight enough to almost disintegrate the delicate lace. "She is just talking to someone, calm yourself."

As he sat further against their winter bedspread, Antonin reasoned that those words had been excellent advice. Unfortunately, he hadn't followed them.

What he had done was marched straight over there and removed the man's hand from his wife's person, almost breaking it in the process, if the noise it made was any indication.

His head came up as he heard Hermione snort and mutter something under her breath as she tore through drawers in the grand chest at the far side of the room, Antonin ran a hand over his face. "I'm sorry solnyshko" he started.

She turned to him, his beautiful wife, clad in just a nightgown now, her eyes thin slits radiating anger. "Sorry for what Antonin?" she began in clipped tones, "For completely humiliating me? Failing to listen? Not being able to control your temper?" her voice travelled higher and higher as she yelled at him. He was pretty sure she wasn't looking for an answer, so he kept himself quiet. "He was doing no harm; he was merely asking me how I was."

"He was very _familiar_ with you Hermione, have you met him before?" Antonin bit out accusingly, feeling bile rise in this throat at the very thought of her acceptance of another man's touch.

"Yes," she replied, her tone equally hostile, "he sits on the Wizengamot Antonin, as I tried to explain while you were attempting to crush his bones."

Antonin was undeterred. "Considering you had met him before he didn't seem to know you were with anyone... Touching you like that…"

"Antonin," she said, sighing so hard that the curls that had come loose from her tied back hair scattered in front of her face. "I'm _heavily_ pregnant, even if our marriage had not made front page news, I'm not exactly able to hide my advertisement of a man in my life at the moment," she gestured wildly to her huge bump.

"You would want to hide it?" he asked, his voice cold as ice.

Hermione looked fit to combust for a moment, but then, her face cocked to the side, and she regarded him knowingly. "Antonin?" she asked, much more softly, "What is this about?"

"You know what it's about," he seethed, "I don't like seeing people touch you."

"I know," she nodded, totally unresponsive to his tone, "but there's something else isn't there?"

Antonin dropped his fierce gaze to the hands in his lap and sucked in a ragged breath. "You took your ring off," he pronounced without looking at her.

"What?" she asked bemusedly.

He clenched his fist but continued. "Last week, you took your wedding ring off before you went to work, and then put it back on when you got home before dinner. I don't know why I noticed, I was coming out of the shower and you were at your dressing table, like always, and I heard the clunk, the metal hitting the wood. You quickly put in a box and then you left it there. Why?" he pressed, Hermione's pale cheeks flushed, and he felt uncomfortable. "Why would you do that?"

His wife padded over to the bed and sat down next to him, the hoisting movement taking a bit of effort. Her own eyes fell to the carpet as she answered him in a small voice, speaking so quietly he couldn't make out what she was trying to say.

"What was that?" he asked past the lump in his throat.

Hermione groaned, "I said it doesn't fit, okay? I have expanded as much as I can magically, and it won't stretch anymore. My fingers are swollen just like the rest of me, and it hurts to wear, but I hate not having it on, so I took it off the other day for a bit of rest."

Relief flooded every cell in Antonin's begin before a small, sheepish smile tugged at his lips, "Why didn't you say anything?" he asked, "I would have brought you another one."

Hermione flushed again, and he jostled her side "I didn't want another one, and I didn't want to draw attention to it, I'm already as big as a house and… well, it's not very sexy is it," she grumbled.

Antonin begged to differ, "I think you are _very_ sexy."

"You would say that," she dismissed.

He wasn't going to let her get away with that, moving so that he could wrap an arm around her and pull her into his lap. "No, it's true, you're carrying _my_ children Hermione, there is nothing that could make you more desirable than that," he dropped a hand to rub her belly while he leant to kiss her.

"I'm still mad at you," she gasped out between open-mouthed kisses

"Let me make it up to you," he whispered as he laid her out on the bed beneath him and edged up the bottom of her nightgown.

* * *

Yaxley moved the glass that he had pressed against his friend's bedroom door, straightening up and turning to the cluster of people behind him. "Crisis averted back, downstairs everyone," his voice displaying more than a quiver of urgency.

Luna and Rabastan shared a knowingly smug grin before moving down the corridor, Severus and Astrid behind. Rodolphus, however, lingered, "Hand on, I want to check she's alright" he argued, ripping the glass from Reuben's hand.

Yaxley put his hand on his shoulder, halting his movement. "Any moment now, you won't _need_ that glass, and I don't want to have to obliviate you."

Realisation dawned on Dolph's face before he went a little pale. "Ah, err, ok, firewhisky?"

"Firewhisky," Reuben agreed.


	2. Side A: Track 2

_A/N Thank you for the feedback to the last chapter, any suggestions have been added to the list and I will try and include them in chapters coming up. This one is something completely different._

* * *

 **SIDE A - TRACK 2**

 **Adele - Send my love**

Harry x Ginny / Harry x Daphne

* * *

 _This was all you, none of it me_

 _You put your hands on, on my body and told me_

 _Mmm_

 _You told me you were ready_

 _For the big one, for the big jump_

 _I'd be your last love everlasting you and me_

 _Mmm_

 _That was what you told me_

 _I'm giving you up_

 _I've forgiven it all_

 _You set me free-ee_

 _Send my love to your new lover_

 _Treat her better_

 _We've gotta let go of all of our ghosts_

 _We both know we ain't kids no more_

* * *

Ginny launched the object she had gripped in her hand against the wall of the decrepit, dusty, Black library, not caring if it was cherished framed photograph or a priceless heirloom.

The satisfying crash of glass and the crunch of dented mouldy plaster spurred her on as she pounded whatever she could get her hands on against the unforgiving surface until she was spent. Exhausted she slid down the opposite wall panting in defeat.

Five years, _five fucking years_ she had wasted on Harry _fucking_ Potter.

She had dreamt away most of her youth pining for him, a silly schoolgirl crush that morphed into real love when she began to mature, when she discovered after dating others that no softy spoken words or heated touches did anything to extinguish the flame she was still carrying, for her brother's best friend.

When he had had finally told her of his of his returned feelings it had felt like everything had gone full circle, like destiny, like they had always been _supposed_ to get to this point.

But Voldemort didn't agree.

The war saw them separated, he off to fight on some ill thought out mission, her left to fend for those that remained behind at the mercy of the Carrow's.

When it was all over she had been locked in her grief her for her fallen brother, she hadn't questioned her and Harry being right for each other, it was a foregone conclusion, everyone expected it, especially them.

In any case they _needed_ each other. They poured comfort into each other, him finding relief in the end of conflict, the end of expectation placed upon him, her relishing in him being finally hers after all this time, they could run away, they could live the lives they wanted.

Only Hermione had spoken out against the match, albeit quietly when they were alone, she had urged her to take her time "what's the rush?" she had asked "you are still _so young_ Ginny".

Still raw from not being included on the mission in the final year she discounted the curly haired witch's words as being ascertations rooted in jealousy, she questioned the motives of her friend, believed that she was determined to split her and Harry up.

Ginny saw it much more clearly now.

Harry who had held her while she cried, Harry who had been so desperate to cement their relationship as the only thing they would need. Harry who announced, in his typically awkward way, that it was over.

Over.

* * *

It was just two months later that she heard about Harry's new girlfriend... Daphne Greengrass.

Daphne Greengrass with her perfect skin, unmarked by freckles, her perfectly ordinary pretty brown hair and her delicate rosebud mouth that had probably never uttered a cursed word in her life.

She hated her immediately, but she hated herself for it more.

* * *

Six months after her ex had begun, very publically, dating, it was seemingly left to dutiful, reluctant, Hermione to deliver the news that he was getting engaged.

Ginny have moved in with her friend at Hermione's insistence when she had to leave Grimmauld Place, not that she had ever liked it. The idea of moving back to The Burrow to face her disappointed mother every day was unthinkable, so she had been more than grateful for the offer of a place, Hermione's flat quickly became her safe haven.

She said nothing when her friend relayed the news, even when Hermione had stumbled out that he had given her his mother's ring, though she did apologise for the broken teapot and cups the next morning.

* * *

"The thing I hate the most right…" she slurred after her third glass of wine "the thing I really _detest_ is the pity"

Her audience of Hermione, Luna and Fleur nodded wonkily, each one clearly having consumed their own fair amount of the fizzy pink stuff Luna had bought along with her.

"Everyone still thinks I'm like I was when I was, what twelve?… _obsessed_ with him... like our relationship was totally one sided" she gestured wildly with her arms "it wasn't... he was the one pulling for the marriage and kids… and everything...he wanted that security... I was just happy _to be_ for a while"

"Maybe it just wasn't right" Luna began dreamily, her head resting on her open palm, elbow propped up on her crossed legs "your aura's were never that compatible"

"Also" Hermione started, decidedly, pointing her finger at Ginny and squinting as if trying to clear off double vision "you have so much fire Ginny don't you want someone who… who... I don't know…. ignites it?"

Ginny smiled at her friend, Hermione could no doubt do with someone to ignite her own fires.

She got to her feet, swaying unsteadily before raising what remained of her wine into the air "to Daphne Greengrass may he treat her better"

Luna giggled loudly before abruptly stopping and leaving the room at speed, presumably to find a bathroom.

* * *

Ginny's drunken toast appeared to have come true as a year later. As she was at the back of a large, overly ornate dance hall, her back propped against a bar as Harry twirled a white dress clad Daphne about the room.

She didn't feel angry, not anymore, she didn't even feel resignation, the time wasted still stung though, that and the concern on everyone's faces as they looked at her today.

It was nearly two years later, could they all stop treating her like some fragile snowflake ready to crack into a million screaming pieces at the slightest provocation.

Her attention was caught by the approach of a man at the bar next to her "hey Red, long time"

She casually gave him the once over before returning her eyes to the dance floor "likewise Zambini"

"Can I get you a drink?"

"Whiskey please" she saw his eyebrows rise and smiled to herself, for some reason finding it immensely funny that she had managed to surprise him.

"So what are you doing here? I would have thought …."

"Thought I would have been at home, crying into my warm tea, lamenting the loss of my youth and practising my knitting?" she snapped.

"No" he replied unruffled "I would have expected you to be smart enough to pull the ex card, to get out of attending this thing like I should've done"

"I didn't realise that Daphne was your ex" she spoke, quickly to cover her embarrassment.

"She was, we were together for two years before she met Potter"

"I'm sorry"

"Don't be, it wasn't really going anywhere. Daphne is a great girl but she's... well she's a bit meak and mild from my taste"

It was Ginny's turn to raise her eyebrows as she watched his eyes sweep over her form fitting red dress, she said she would come all right, but she refused to look anything less than a knockout doing it.

"Oh" she said innocently "and what exactly is your taste Mr Zabini?"

Blaise took a long sip of his drink before sliding next to her, leaning against the bar "you see I'm Italian, I like a bit of fire in my women, and spirit, it's like whiskey really, it's not really doing anything for you unless it's got a bit of a kick... know anyone that fits that description Red?"

Ginny turned her head to regard him from underneath her lashes, "you know what Mr Zabini I think I might"


	3. Side A: Track 3

_A/N thank you for all of your reviews and suggestions, I have a few ideas that I drafted when I first thought of this story that I will be working through, as well as a few one-shots for various upcoming femslash Tumblr weeks but will be looking to include your ideas as much as possible._

 _As two separate guests requested meeting with Hermione's parents I am working on that for Track 4._

* * *

 **SIDE A - TRACK 3**

 **George Harrison - Something**

Draco x Hermione / Hermione x Krum

* * *

 _Something in the way she moves_

 _Attracts me like no other lover_

 _Something in the way she woos me_

 _I don't want to leave her now_

 _You know I believe her now_

* * *

Draco looked down at the palm of his hand, his _rejected_ hand, his brow pinched into an incredulous frown. He couldn't believe _Harry Potter_ had turned him down, of all the…

His ramping aggression was cut short by a tall elderly witch who introduced herself as Professor McGonagall, 'Gryffindor House' his father's voice mentally supplied, he didn't fight the scorn that crossed his face, though he moved against the wall as she directed without protest.

That was when he saw her for the first time.

He had looked up, not wanting to waste a perfectly good sneer, instead intending to direct it at Potter when he got a glimpse of wild curly hair just over the idiot's shoulder. The girl underneath the mad, springy tendrils was tiny, tiny and… different.

He looked for some vague parallel between this creature and the girls that he had been brought up around and found nothing. There was no poise about her, she held herself with no grace, her huge eyes set into her warm skin seemed to reflect every emotion, every very thought that crossed her mind.

Suddenly her name was called 'Granger, Hermione' he realised belatedly what that meant as the hat threatened to sink to her shoulders. The call to the lions was the last nail in the coffin.

His eyes still followed her as she walked to the table, and that's when he saw it, saw her ball up all of her fear and nerves, her little head lifted up, chin jutting slightly and she folded smoothly between two redheads already at the table.

The way she moved... _not so different after all_.

* * *

Three weeks they hadn't been talking to her for. By his own admission, albeit only to himself, Draco took an interest in the goings-on of Harry Potter, a lot of interest. So he had spotted when the trio became a duo, they had stopped waiting for her after classes and she had stopped sitting with them at meals. She was always on her own it seemed.

She still couldn't keep out of it though.

After Potions, he and Potter had gotten into their usual exchange of insults and she just had to stick her nose into it, he turned instinctively to scream at her, to vent his frustration at her untouchability into her face, like it was her fault.

Jibes about her inferiority died on his tongue when he looked at her features. Anger had made her eyebrows knot and her mouth twist but it was her eyes that held him to the spot. The dark circles that had been deepening for weeks stood out firmly against her too pale face. He wondered briefly if he held his hand up against her skin, would there be much difference between them then?

He was suddenly aware he had been silent _too_ long, managing to stumble out something about them not being worth it, he barged down the corridor. He turned back when he got to the end, enough to see her on her own again. He watched her slump with more than the weight of her book bag as she seemed to will herself to move. He waited till she did, it shouldn't have reassured him to watch her walk away.

The way she moved... _to safety_.

* * *

Draco clutched the conjured ice cold cloth against his cheek for two seconds only to pull it away as soon as Pansy wasn't looking. He placed his fingers gingerly against the bump that was already forming, waiting for the moment that the chill would recede allowing him to feel the flush of warmth her fist had caused.

He would never have believed her capable of punching someone in the face, least of all him. She had flown at him like a banshee, powered by some unknown force as her soft flesh collided with his. He wondered if she realised they had never touched before.

Pansy came back and held a mirror up for him to view his injury, he twisted himself so he could regard his pinked cheek, he swallowed his sigh and his hope for a scar.

The way she moved... _was best when they collided_.

* * *

Draco's mouth dropped open alongside everyone else's as she walked into the Great Hall draped on Victor Krum's arm. He'd no idea who she was going to attend with, apart from some flimsy notion that it would've been the Weasel. He had been extra mean to the idiot in the last two weeks to make up for it.

He had even momentarily thought that it might have been Potter, although, unlike the rest of the school he was not under the illusion that there was anything going on there. He watched her more than he watched him, he knew they were just friends.

Not that it had stopped him from burning every article about their illicit teenage romance that crossed his path.

His fists balled as he observed the blatant ogling she received for most of the evening, his jaw clenched when he heard the red headed fool scream at her. It was no secret that he disliked Ron Weasley, he had been trained to from his cradle but it was more than that, he hated him for himself as well, he could have her and he did not.

When she ran from the hall he couldn't stop his legs from moving to follow her, it didn't take long to track her down, it may have been years since she was almost reduced to a hat stand but she was still small for her age, she couldn't get far. He heard sniffing at the end of the corridor and moved into a shadowed alcove. He breathed so heavily he considered silencing himself.

Minutes passed and her tears didn't stop, Draco was at war with himself. He could go over now, he could, just this once, say something… maybe not nice but… on its way to comforting. No one would believe her if she ever said anything, not that he thought she would, he didn't think.

Just as he had resolved to go ahead and risk a moment of contentment he heard footsteps in the corridor and he instinctively pushed himself further against the wall.

He couldn't tear his eyes away as Krum bent down in front of her, as he softly swiped his thumb over her damp cheeks. He spoke to low for Draco to hear the words but whatever he said had the desired effect, Hermione's head came up and she offered him a hesitant smile, her teeth attacking her bottom lip.

The way she moved… _she had no idea what it did to him_.

* * *

Draco sped up the steps to the top of the Owlery, letter grasped firmly in his right hand, he had written to his parents immediately after Professor Umbridge had pinned his shiny silver 'i' shaped badge on his robes that morning, he couldn't wait to run into Weasley.

The weasel wasn't the Gryffindor Prefect he actually ran into though. He caught sight of her a moment before she realised he was there, she was so engrossed in her letter, not usually on his own with her in any way he could resist the opportunity to speak to her, in the only way he could.

"Finally taught your savage parents how to use the postal service have you Granger? I take everything I said about you back, you really must be the brightest witch of your age to have achieved that feat"

He drank in the explosion of pink that drifted up her throat, his vision uninterrupted as her mad hair had been dragged back into a loose ponytail.

She huffed but stepped as if to walk around him, he wasn't having that. Lunging forward he made to snatch the parchment out of her hands, she tried to deflect his progress but he was quicker, darting after the letter waving in her hands like it was a tiny winged ball.

He ripped it from her fingers and held it above her head triumphantly before spinning to turn his back on her "let's see what mummy dearest has to say shall we?" he mocked, though the humour fell away as his eyes rested on the spiky consistent letters that covered the page, he shuffled, _three_ pages in fact. He recognised the script instantly, the boys signature resided on one of his practise snitches.

"Krum?" he asked incredulously.

Hermione seized his moment of inattention to steal back the parchment and speed away from him down the corridor, he wondered if her eagerness spoke to her desire to continue reading her _very_ long letter or just to get away from him.

The way she moved… _he didn't like it_.

* * *

Draco slunk against the cooling stone of the corridor wall willing his headache to abate, or his hands to stop shaking, one of the two would be nice, he didn't expect to be able to achieve both. He ran his hands over his sternum gingerly, more scars to add to his ever growing collection, he wondered if Snape had told the Dark Lord yet, would the news of his attack work with him or against him? Who could say?

That's when he heard her voice, he stilled for a moment wondering if he was imagining it, again. But no he could hear the whispered responses of Potter.

Before he could question himself he moved closer.

"...into the… Malfoy was there and… argument…. curse… I didn't know" his lips curled at Potter's weak explanation of the events that left him fighting for his life on the flooded bathroom floor. If Snape hadn't been there he would have been dead, as it was the boy that lived got detention, a fact that he seemed to have just related to Hermione.

"You could have killed him Harry!" her voice was much clearer than the others, he had got her in a snit enough times to know when she was truly upset, this appeared to be one of those times.

Whatever Potter said in his defence clearly didn't appease her as a moment later she was stomping past his hiding spot, blissfully unaware, huffing loudly and mumbling to herself.

The way she moved… _in his defence_.

* * *

Draco felt the air leave his body as she was forced onto her back, onto the dirty floor. Felt his heart constrict as the first curse hit its mark. When the blade collided with her skin numbness seeped into to his frame, he couldn't move, couldn't look away, this couldn't be real, it was probably a nightmare, his worst nightmare but one all the same.

The way she moved… _the way her eyes fixed on him until they were unseeing… it wasn't_.

* * *

After the battle, he watched her as his mother and father spoke to the aurors. There would be trials, consequences to being on the wrong side. None of it was news, he had suffered from the fate of being on the wrong side since he was eleven.

She was talking to Luna Lovegood, standing slightly away from everyone else that was until she was scooped up into a broad chest and lifted clean off the floor. The embrace didn't affect him, he'd had years to get used to it, she was a very affectionate girl, but the way she sagged in relief stabbed him, the relaxation of her frame mocking his affection.

The way she moved… _brought pain_.

* * *

Draco straightened his tie for the fifth time, just to give him something else to do with his hands until he could justify another drink. He only needed to stay another hour then he could really sink himself into oblivion.

He had been to more weddings than funerals that year, which was saying something, something depressing, but something all the same. As was the way of purebloods in Europe when one scion got married they were all invited hence his presence here at her wedding. He had never expected to be here.

He watched Hermione Krum got twirled inexpertly around the floor, for all of Viktor's elegance and grace in the air he possessed none of it on the dancefloor, it didn't seem to worry her though, every fudged step made her beam wider until they were laughing almost to the point of hysterics, some shared joke no doubt.

He didn't want to know the specific reason for her mirth, he allowed himself one more resolute glance at the warmth that lit up her face, the whole room and turned around to face the bar, again.

The way she moved… _she would never know_.


	4. Side A: Track 4

_A/N a couple of guests requested a situation with Antonin/Yaxley x Hermione where they meet Hermione's parents. Have had a go at this below. Thank you for all of your lovely feedback for this random collection. Please, no more requests for a bit, I need a little while to work through the list I have._

* * *

 **SIDE A - TRACK 4**

 **U2 - Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own**

Hermione x Yaxley

* * *

 _You don't have to put up a fight_

 _You don't have to always be right_

 _Let me take some of the punches_

 _For you tonight_

 _Listen to me now_

 _I need to let you know_

 _You don't have to go it alone_

 _And it's you when I look in the mirror_

 _And it's you when I don't pick up the phone_

 _Sometimes you can't make it on your own_

* * *

Reuben Yaxley shut the cupboard door in front of him and put his arm into the crisp white shirt he had retrieved from its depths. He avoided looking into the mirrored reflection on the door, he wasn't in the mood to stare at himself in the face right now.

She had gone.

He was still in a state of shock about that, he was pretty sure she was the first woman that had actually walked out on him, and he had given others plenty more reason. He ran his fingers over the cravat he would normally favour and picked up the muggle tie he had purchased, he tried tying it a couple of times like the salesman had shown him before giving up and pointing his wand at it… knots he could handle.

He pulled the deep navy blue jacket over his shoulders and finally risked a quick glance at the mirror, taking in his usual formal attire _you'll do._

He left his room, extinguishing lights as he went, moving towards the front door wondering if this was a fool's errand.

She had wanted more.

That was what she had said... more, more, _more._

He had heard those words, or variants of that particular little speech a million times in his life and his typical response ranged from total exasperation to complete ire depending on the situation. He was never one to mislead, he was who he was and he was always _very clear_ about his expectations and activities from the start.

But it was the way she said it to him, the way _his_ Hermione had stood in the middle of his study staring at him while he was mid rant before she gently placed her tumbler on the side of the desk. She hadn't whined, she hadn't she hadn't cried or pleaded all of those he had experienced before. She just looked pained then _she told him_ she didn't even ask, resigned to the expectation that he would knock her back. She didn't even wait for a response, not that one would have been particularly forthcoming seeing that he had been stunned into silence. When she finished speaking she had walked forward and stepped up on her toes to kiss his cheek, squeezing the arm that she had held onto for balance and then left.

By the time his feet had come unstuck from the floor she was gone.

How had it ever even got to this point?

Yaxley walked out onto the path in front of the townhouse, wine bottle clutched in hand before apparating to the leafy suburb. He thought for a moment that the apparition hadn't agreed with him until he realised, with no small amount of horror, that he was actually just a little nervous.

Meeting the parents was a pretty big step, not that he'd ever taken it before, though arguably it was an even bigger one when you were inviting yourself.

A chill moved through the air and he automatically stilled, the cold always brought back the shadows of Azkaban that lingered in the edges of his mind even though he had been out two years this time.

When he had first been released it had been much worse. He had been subjected to a three-month stay at St Mungo's where the doctors assessed his physical and mental health almost daily, the procedures were intrusive and demeaning and most days he wondered if he would have been happier back at the prison.

That was when he had met Hermione.

She had become a healer after the war and was one of the team that was assigned to cases from what became known as the 'Parolee Program' for convicts release from Azkaban. He was one of the first four to leave the prison to attempt to integrate back into wizarding society.

He had not reacted well to her presence initially, especially when he found that she had specially requested the position.

Hermione had been there when was first brought in and he cursed his luck to be constantly reminded of the war. He had flinched when she touched him for the first time, her touch being purely along the lines of what her job entailed but he hadn't been expecting it. She registered his movement and her eyes hardened but she said nothing. Her silent judgement had infuriated him. He had grabbed her by the wrist applying as much pressure as he could, which had been a very small amount at the time.

"I don't give a shit about your blood, you stupid girl" he had rasped at her, his voice scratchy from lack of use.

He hadn't been touched, not with any semblance of kindness at least, for the longest time.

He did not make nursing him easy; he had sworn at her, yelled at her and when none of those worked he would make lewd comments in her hearing, she made no rebuke but he saw her blush and he continued twice as hard after that.

He couldn't have said when things changed when he had started to desire her. In any case, the development was apparently mutual, and though she was not willing to become involved while he was still a patient, he had managed to steal some heated kisses that indicated future passions, while still confined to his room.

Once he had been released everything had been going well, great even. He found himself wanting to spend time with her, she never tried to change him or berate him from his past behaviour she just accepted him the way he came. That didn't mean they didn't argue, they did frequently, though he held a suspicion that she liked it as much as he did.

She was bright and a lot more relaxed than people had ever given her credit for but her world view was still so black and white, _that's why you care_ , he would tell himself. He owed it to her to try to educate her, to keep her safe. She had helped save him after all.

When they had started going out he'd insisted it be casual and Hermione had been fine with that, a little too fine for his ego if he was honest. Though he was soon to find that their versions of casual were very different; he was used to no strings, relationships limited to instances of exposed skin and staccato panting and one time even a pulley. Her definition meant nights in with comfortable clothes and junk food, considering he hadn't had much in the way of comfort for the last twenty years he went along with it.

Then, like it so often will, the real world stepped in and fucked it all up.

They had been on the way home from dinner, another thing that was not in his normal definition of casual, and they run into Potter and his wife. After he had gotten over the initial shock of thinking that James and Lily Potter been resurrected he stood back, fists clenched as the boy wonder launched into a full attack mode. He laid into Hermione bringing up a million questions he had over her 'life choices', enraged he managed to get in one crude comment before she turned to him and threatened to silence him if he interfered again.

The confrontation went on for several minutes and as a further blow he realised that somehow he had expected she would have told Potter about him, about them, but she hadn't, seemingly not even a little. When they got back to his townhouse he raged at her, ignoring that she had probably already had enough angst for one evening, anger still coursing through his blood, both from not being able to defend her and her lack of disclosure.

Until, as they so often would, while harsh words were being spoken the real issue came to the fore.

"So I'm just your dirty little secret am I Hermione?" He never called her by name, not ever, not anymore. It was always affectionate pet names designed to irritate her and make him laugh. He intended leaked sign of emotional withdrawal and the jerk of her face let him know that she felt it.

"It's… not like… I mean" she spluttered.

"Come off it, you think because of all that time inside I am not right in the head? is this your little walk on the wild side before settling down to marry some ministry bore and dropping a few kids?" his tone was low and scathing.

"I…"

"Then what Hermione? fucking what?!" He boomed.

That was when he saw it, the watery sheen across her eyes, her slumped shoulders and her over full lips. Defeat radiated from her small frame, that was when she told him that she wanted more. How she hadn't wanted to tell her friends because she knew they would react badly and it didn't seem worth the upset because of his desire for a temporary arrangement.

Then she left, and now, he was stood in front of the small if nicely kept house with a crashing _horrible_ sense of déjà vu.

* * *

He rang the bell and waited, moving back off the step so as not to crowd the door, with his size it worked best to at least try to not be intimidating at least when he had no desire to be.

The door wrenched open a moment later and she was standing there. The broad smile and creases around her eyes dropped immediately as she saw who it was in pure shock, she didn't say anything she just stood there motionless, vacant.

A moment later another woman appeared at the door, Jean Granger was a little taller than her daughter and her frame more willowy she looked upon him with a smile "Hermione?" she inquired softly.

Not seeking to see what Hermione would say he took control of the situation "Mrs Granger, my name is Reuben Yaxley, forgive the interruption, I unexpectedly had a change of plans this evening and knowing Hermione would be here I came over to see if I could have a moment of her time" he smiled winningly at her.

 _Three ...two… one._

"Of course, well you must come in, and please call me Jean, we are about to have dinner should I make you up a plate?" she answered brightly before she leant down to mock whisper to Hermione "I take it this was the man you were telling me about"

That knocked him off course a little, as did the flush on his Hermione's cheeks. He had banked on muggle mothers being the same as a mother in the wizarding world, and he had been proved right when Jean Granger invited him into her home, but he hadn't been expecting her to know about him.

He made to turn to Hermione to judge her expression but she had backed away from the door to hold it wider for his entry.

He moved through and removed his coat, he saw her eyebrows shoot up at his choice of attire and he smirked at her.

Jean continued chatting as they walked through the house into the lounge, it looked different with furnishings. When he had come here last there were no traces of life whatsoever it felt... warmer.

As they moved into the dining room he was introduced to Hermione's father. Mark Granger was a kindly looking man with wiry dark hair and keen brown eyes. Hermione seemed to be a complete blend of both her parents.

Sitting down at the table he did his best not to look at the witch that had sat down next to him, he felt her eyes on him from time to time but he ignored it. He had enough to deal with what was put in front of him. He had been truthful in the hospital when he told Hermione that he didn't care about her blood, he didn't, but some things were hard wired looking at muggle food, prepared by muggles about to be consumed in a muggle home made his hand shake slightly as he picked up his fork. That was until he saw her glare levelled at him. He also saw the faint line of a smirk on her mouth and he read it for the challenge it was before he turned back to eat with gusto. _Point to me I think._

The conversation moved around many topics though the expected one of his relationship with Hermione didn't come up, whether that was as she had asked them not to or because of his unexpected arrival he couldn't tell.

But then a much worse topic arose.

"So Reuben, did you fight in the war?" Mark Granger asked conversationally.

He felt Hermione stiffen beside him but he was undeterred "yes" he answered plainly.

He saw Mark Granger then as a parent, not just a man, not just a muggle. He watched the man's eyes soften and he realised he had thought that was the right answer.

"Have you got a medal like Hermione?" showing both his pride in his daughter and an underlining approval of him as a potential suitor.

"No" he answered quickly again, he thought he heard Hermione exhaled roughly but he wasn't done "I wasn't on the same side"

The atmosphere in the room went from lightly jovial to ice in a mere moment, Jean looked at Hermione beseechingly while Mark tightened his hold on the stem of his wine glass.

"Hermione.." Mark began sternly

"Yes dad" she answered dutifully.

"From the synopsis you gave me what would be the appropriate terminology here?" he enquired, to a casual observer his tone might have seemed uninterested but all those at the table knew better.

She balled up her napkin before turning to face her father "Reuben was a Death Eater"

"Is that so" Reuben was surprised by the cool tone of his voice, when he had met the man he wouldn't have thought him capable of such a malicious tone "one of the ones that wanted you dead?"

"Dad I…"

Reuben sat forward and squeezed her leg cutting her off "Mr Granger, I understand that you…"

"You need to leave, now" he stated plainly.

Reuben found himself impressed, reluctantly, with Mark Granger, the man was a muggle, knew he was in the face of a dark wizard and had stood up to him anyway, against his wildest expectations the man had earned his respect.

"Mark maybe we should…" Jean began.

"Could I talk to you in the kitchen for a moment?" Hermione asked him, her voice without emotion.

Standing after her he followed behind her in silence until they walked through the kitchen door when he automatically locked and silenced the room.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him unemotionally. He took her in then, simple white summer dress and hair all over the place she looked fine, well even, he would have maybe considered his course of action was misguided but he could detect the faintest glamour around her eyes which would indicate that maybe she wasn't as put together as she seemed.

He stalked towards her, ignoring her gasp as he placed both of his hands on her waist and lifted her off the floor placing her down on the edge of the kitchen table, before boxing her in, with his hands resting on the table on either side of her legs.

"What do you think I'm doing here? you didn't give me any choice…. you just walked out" he answered face inches from hers.

Her eyes closed "I was… embarrassed" she admitted.

"Of me?"

"No…"

"Could have fooled me little duck"

As soon as the words fell out of his mouth, an affectionate expression as easy to give as breathing he saw the hurt flash across her face.

"I… I couldn't afford to start liking you, you were clear about what you wanted but I couldn't help it, I had to go don't you see I…"

He grabbed the back of her curls and crashed his face to hers, letting his blood be cooled by the soft sounds of contentment she made and the feel of the skin at the back of her neck under the pads of his fingers.

He broke away from her, his voice ragged with need "everyone knows now so maybe... Maybe we try it your way"

She looked up at him then, eyes so hopefully he felt even worse "really?" she asked softly.

He nodded.

"But what about…"

"Don't make me say it again!" he gruffed at her "you have already had a lifetime of concessions from me"

She nodded but her eyes danced and he fought, harder than he would normally have had too, to keep the smile off his face.

"Let's make some coffee.. If we are going back out there it would be best to have something other than booze on the table" he moved back as she jumped off the table.

Hermione busied herself with a machine on the other side of the counter, it looked vaguely similar to one he had seen when she had taken him for a drink once before but smaller.

When a sudden jet of steam erupted he jumped, he managed to suppress most of his reaction but she didn't miss it. He turned to see her shoulders shake as she attempted to stifle her laughter.

"Do you think that's funny?" he growled in her ear "do you have any idea how old I am Hermione sudden shocks like that could be fatal"

She smiled at him "more shocking than if I told you I wasn't wearing underwear?" she replied innocently.

He groaned and she laughed out loud then.

"Come on" he said taking the tray from out of her hands and walking towards the door. He waited until they were nearly at the dining room before he reached for her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers and pulling her close "let me handle this" he commanded, as gently as he could.

"Okay" she agreed with an air of reluctance.

He disentangled his hand from hers before running it up her leg, just enough to confirm her words from earlier, when she squeaked slightly he closed his eyes, he would need to remember that sensation to get through the next thirty minutes.


	5. Side A: Track 5

_A/N this one is for the Pansmione Femslash week on Tumblr - Enjoy!_

* * *

 **SIDE A - TRACK 5**

 **Hozier - Take Me to Church**

Pansy x Hermione ' _Pansmione_ '

* * *

 _My lover's got humour_

 _She's the giggle at a funeral_

 _Knows everybody's disapproval_

 _I should've worshipped her sooner_

 _If the heavens ever did speak_

 _She's the last true mouthpiece_

 _Every Sunday's getting more bleak_

 _A fresh poison each week_

 _"We were born sick," you heard them say it_

 _My church offers no absolutes_

 _She tells me, "Worship in the bedroom."_

 _The only heaven I'll be sent to_

 _Is when I'm alone with you_

 _I was born sick_

 _But I love it_

 _Command me to be well_

 _Aaay. Amen. Amen. Amen._

 _Take me to church_

 _I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies_

 _I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife_

 _Offer me that deathless death_

 _Good God, let me give you my life_

* * *

Pansy fought her way to the front of the green tie clad students as they were finally released from the dungeons, no one would tell them anything, every look was tinged with scorn and none more so than those directed at her.

She was too scared to care.

The moment she saw Draco she broke into a run that her mother would have called 'an offensive display' she didn't care about that either.

But she did, she always had.

An hour later everything was beginning to sink in, Voldemort was dead, Vince was dead, the Carrows were gone and she was the girl that had tried to sell out Harry Potter. She laughed without mirth when she realised for one Draco wasn't the first one people would think of as the 'junior face of intolerance'... it would be her.

She sat with her friends in a tired clump, resting amongst each other on the shadowed side of the Great Hall, waiting for their parents, the ones that weren't being arrested, to come and collect them. None of them spoke while they watched the jubilation on the other side of the space.

Pansy occupied her time by thinking up cruel observations about the celebratory Order members; the Weasley's poverty, Potter's bumbling good-guy act and finally her eyes fell on Hermione; _Perfect, Prefect, Princess Granger_.

It took a long time of staring before she noticed _she,_ at least, wasn't celebrating. Pansy watched as people approached her, clearly wanting to spend their five minutes with a _war hero_. Pansy observed her cold eyes and she _knew_ then, knew as clearly as she had ever known anything that Hermione didn't want it, not the attention, not the praise, none of it, maybe she never had.

That small revelation led to so much more.

* * *

As Hermione apparated to the small graveyard she took a moment to fortify herself before moving to stand under a large tree, many feet away from where the small service was taking place.

She itched at the scratchy black fabric clinging to her wrist, she wasn't one for formal robes but it had seemed appropriate the respectful choice.

Unfortunately, she realised, belatedly, that from this distance she couldn't ascertain when the proceedings were over, it meant she lingered too long. As white blond hair flew towards her in a rage she knew it was too late to make a speedy exit now.

"What's your game, Granger?" Draco sneered at her, he was _much_ too close, his eyes red-rimmed. Whatever she may have thought of him he had obviously cared more for his friend than any of them had given him credit for.

"I didn't come here for you" the harsh words fall out more from the force of habit than deliberate censure.

Blaise turned and rubbed a hand across his face tiredly "come on Draco this isn't worth it" he walked passed her knocking into her shoulder as he did so.

Soon it was just herself and Pansy left, the enemy of her youth stared at her unblinkingly and Hermione forced herself to meet that emotionless gaze.

"Where are your little Order mates now?" she asked spitefully.

"I don't know... I don't consult them on everything I do" she answered equally hostile before brushing past her to head to somewhere she could apparate from.

She cursed the tears that fell down her face; she hadn't meant to upset them.

* * *

Pansy want even surprised when Hermione turned up a week after Vince's funeral at her flat, she might not have known Granger as well as she thought, but she knew enough to be aware of her stubbornness, she had never been one to let anything go.

"What are you doing here?" she asked in her affected bored tone, staring absently down at her perfectly manicured fingernails while resting her hip on the door jam.

"I….I honestly" Hermione stuttered before swallowing audibly "I don't really know"

Pansy sighed _that makes two of us._

She stepped abruptly back ushering the other girl in before walking around the small, but perfectly decorated flat quickly shouting directions as she did so "bathroom is there... The study is through there… I'm reliably informed that this is the kitchen but you would have to take Theo's word for it"

"Why are you taking me on a tour?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"Well, I expect you will need to know, where everything is… if you anticipate coming over again" Pansy knew she had articulated the words with perfect disinterest; she just hoped the erratic beat of her heart wasn't quite as loud as she thought it was.

* * *

From that day they steadily got used to each other, a friendship formed almost in spite of them. If Hermione had given any credence to Divination, or any magic of the like, she would have considered that they were being pulled together by higher forces.

When Hermione got her new job she immediately raced to owl Pansy, it was the first notice she sent to any of her friends. She received a response and hour later. The owl carried missive was terse almost to the point of scathing. Pansy's loping formal script lamented how boring the position Hermione had gone for was, how utterly pathetic it was to be that excited about anything.

When a new quill, an expensive new quill, arrived on her first day with no note Hermione's face broke into a wide beam. What was it the girl was always saying? Oh, that was it… _words are cheap._

* * *

When Pansy invited Hermione out to drink with her friends she didn't think it was a sign of letting the girl further into her life, she told herself she was _testing_ the curly-haired witch, aggressively pushing her buttons so she would leave and then she would be free of her irritating presence.

Her friends were not exactly welcoming but not exactly hostile either, in fact, they all seemed to be watching her more closely than they were Granger.

Once Hermione had a glass of wine down her neck she responded to the thinly veiled barbs from Draco and Theo in kind. But it was Blaise that Pansy was concerned with.

He sat too close to Hermione and seemed to always be finding a reason to touch; her arm, her thigh and even thick strands of her hair.

Granger didn't seem to be actively encouraging it but she wasn't putting a stop to it either.

After two hours and too many drinks to bite back her anger anymore, she stood abruptly grasping Hermione by the wrist "come on Granger time to go, you have work tomorrow"

She was gratified when Hermione smiled, albeit rather wonkily at her before grabbing her bag and standing. When Blaise made to make a comment she shot him down with a fierce glare before all but dragging Hermione from the pub.

She raced down the road unaware of how Hermione was struggling to keep up until the girl tugged her on her arm "slowdown will you, I can never keep up with you when you're on a mission in your heels… plus your legs are longer than mine" Hermione panted out.

"Oh I'm sorry, would you rather be back with Blaise while he runs his hands through your hair" she snapped.

Hermione blinked at her twice, her movements were heavy and laboured and Pansy felt her anger evaporate as she realised just how much Granger must have had to drink.

"Ignore me I…"

"What if I don't want to ignore you?" Hermione said primly, the image somewhat ruined as it took her three attempts to successfully place her hands on her hips, she may have gone to continue but she hiccupped which was seemingly _very funny_ as she broke into uncontrollable giggles before landing her forehead heavily on Pansy's shoulder.

"You're drunk" she stated plainly, though she moved a hand to grip her waist... _To steady her, just to keep her steady._

"Maybe... but you're jealous" Hermione retorted, her voice muffled as she spoke into Pansy's collarbone.

"What…"

"You are" Hermione stated firmly as if she would have no refusal.

"I'm not, of all the stupid things to say, Granger…" Pansy sputtered.

Hermione hiccupped again which was followed by another burst of laughter "silly billy" she cooed into Pansy's neck " _you_ could touch my hair if you wanted too"

Pansy swallowed, unconsciously her hand on the girls hip gripped tighter "could I?" she forced out past the lump in her throat.

Hermione's head snapped up "of course" she answered brightly before pressing a soft, all to quick kiss to her lips and making a loud smacking sound "come on Pansy pans" she singsonged while dragging her arm "it's home time, and as you so astutely pointed out… I have work tomorrow"

Pansy almost managed to hide her smile totally, that girl, _her girl_ , was going to have one sore head tomorrow.

* * *

Three months, Hermione thought to herself while she stirred the tea, taking as long as possible through the simple process. From that drunken night, she and Pansy had been seeing each other. It had been tentative at first, Pansy had no experience with girls and she had no experience whatsoever.

She had been putting off talking to her friends about Pansy. Hermione knew it would be hard work convincing them of who the girl really was. At the same time, she was increasingly aware that the raven haired witch, though she tried to act different, thought she was hiding their relationship as she was embarrassed or ashamed of her.

Nothing could have been further from the truth; she cared about Pansy an awful lot. But the girl wasn't as hard as she seemed and Hermione knew her friends, she didn't want cruel barbs lobbed at her.

But Ron found out, somehow, and now he was here at the flat.

* * *

Pansy came down the decidedly inelegant stairs in Granger's flat pushing her hair behind her ears. She had been sleeping over for a while, sharing a bed but taking it slow, she wasn't sure if it was a justifiable caution or just fear that was stopping them from telling each other how they felt.

As she got to the bottom of the flight she overheard voices in the kitchen.

Loud voices.

As she registered Ron Weasley's tempered yell she moved into the shadows having no desire for him to see him in her emerald green camisole.

She couldn't help listening in, though.

Pansy felt her shell harden as she heard the words he labelled her; scum, Death Eater brat, vicious cow. Her spine stiffened and she was aware of words, coarse, harsh, direct, barbs forming in her throat, it was a natural reaction to her.

Hate didn't deflect off her skin like people thought, it definitely permeated, but anytime someone tried to hurt her she would launch something back at them with twice the force. If only for them not to realise how affected she had been.

Her skin felt heated as she fought back tears, she wasn't sure the last time she cried, she desperately wanted to see Hermione's face, to see how she was reacting to the Weasel's staunch attack… and then she didn't need to see it.

She heard Hermione's voice, her tone so sharp it could have cut, she heard Hermione defend her, not by making excuses, not be explaining their relationship… she didn't do any of that. Instead, she seethed at Ron, for his audacity to question her choices, for his stupidity in labelling _her girlfriend_ words he didn't even understand and then finally when she wasn't sure she could hear any more the final blow was delivered.

"I'm not asking you to _like it_ Ron, but as my friend, I am _warning you_...don't push me to choose, _you won't win_ "

The door slammed moments after that, hard. When Pansy made it into the kitchen Hermione's face was ashen and she was still panting, her wild curls tumbled everywhere as she tried to look down to hide her tear streaked face but Pansy would have none of that.

Overcome she stepped forward, walking towards her girlfriend and linking her fingers through hers "upstairs" she commanded softly, pulling Hermione back up the small staircase from which she had just descended.

Pansy led them back into their bedroom and as gently as she could, given her warring emotions, pushed Hermione to lay back on the bed.

She moved to stand at the end of the double bed and gripped the bottom of Hermione's red and blue plaid pyjama bottoms. Pansy pulled them slowly down her legs, smirking as Hermione lifted her hips to aid her intended movement. She darted towards the lightly tanned flesh, climbing forward onto the end of the bed laying kisses from her ankles up to her knees first on her left them up her right.

Sitting back on her haunches Pansy gripped Hermione's hands pulling her to sit upright, kissing her soundly, hands fisting in her hair before softly trailing her fingers over her cheeks, neck, shoulders, ghosting fingers down her side then grasping the bottom of the top she grinned against Hermione's mouth as her girl automatically lifted her hands over her head.

She released a breathy moan as it became clear Hermione hadn't bothered with a bra and she pushed her back down, flat on her back, kissing from her collarbone down before latching her mouth around her firm nipples.

"Do you know what you do to me Hermione?" she whispered against her pink flesh, before blowing cool air over the damp skin "when I hear you defend me like that"

"Too... many clothes" Hermione breathed out raggedly.

Pansy sat back again, waiting for Hermione's eyes to link with hers before she, slowly, inched the silky cami over her thighs, revealing her torso then yanked it clean over her head.

She watched Hermione's eyes widen before she couldn't hold back anymore, dropping down she pushed Hermione's legs further apart before connecting her mouth on her heated flesh, moving her tongue between her folds while the tip of her nose gently prodded against her clit.

Hermione's soft moans and twitches made her own core tighten almost painfully.

When she felt her girl's body still she attached her mouth firmly to her clit, sucking rhythmically against it until her little lion came with a scream that chased away what had remained of her nerves.

She had only just raised her head when Hermione pulled her roughly upwards and towards her, hugging her as if she didn't need to breathe. The emotions of the day threatened to take over as she fought back the tears until Hermione kissed her tenderly.

There was heat there but it wasn't quite the same. Pansy love was underpinned by fierce possession and fire when she felt Hermione's love it was like being cradled in a protective blanket.

Hermione shifted them so they were laying side by side, Pansy still wrapped in her arms, as she continued to pepper Pansy's face with long kisses Hermione slid her fingers slowly down the raven haired witch's body.

She teased Pansy gently before slowly inserting two fingers into her; she loosened her hold but fixed her eyes on Pansy's while she worked her with increasing fever until Pansy broke in front of her.

Once their breathing had stilled they moved apart slowly both lying side by side on their backs, Pansy pulled the covers over them thinking that a sleep would not be out of the question.

The room was quiet for a long time until Pansy looked at the ceiling pulling absentmindedly on Hermione's curls "how do I marry you? Like the muggles do" she asked quietly.

"You take me to a church" her girl replied, tucking herself closer into her side.

 _A church, I could do that._


	6. Side A: Track 6

_A/N Hi all -_ Femships _weeks continue on Tumblr, this week Fleurmione._

* * *

 **SIDE A - TRACK 6**

 **Rihanna - Umbrella**

Hermione x Fleur 'Fleurmione'

* * *

 _When the sun shines, we'll shine together_

 _Told you I'd be here forever_

 _Said I'll always be a friend_

 _Took an oath I'm a stick it out 'til the end_

 _Now that it's raining more than ever_

 _Know that we'll still have each other_

 _You can stand under my umbrella_

 _You can stand under my umbrella_

 _(Ella ella eh eh eh)_

 _Under my umbrella_

 _(Ella ella eh eh eh)_

 _Under my umbrella_

 _(Ella ella eh eh eh)_

 _Under my umbrella_

 _(Ella ella eh eh eh eh eh eh)_

* * *

Fleur stared at the girl, prostrate and broken in the little bed of the smallest bedroom in the cottage and fought to keep her hands steady. Eventually, she moved to rest them on her bouncing knees if just to stop herself from reaching forward to touch.

Bill appeared in the doorway, sweet, kind, _dependable Bill_. Sometimes Fleur wished they could have learned to love each other fully, but after the initial flush of something had faded they both fell into a relationship that was more like a friendship than anything else, helped along, no doubt, by Molly Weasley's colossal dislike of her, not that she cared any longer.

Fleur had put that feeling of perpetual unease in the matriarch's presence behind her years ago, thanks in no small part to the curly-haired witch occupying the room.

-/-

Fleur had been visiting the Burrow at the end of Ron's fifth year. Things in the house had been tense, Bill was obviously apologetic but had long since decided that the best way of dealing with his mother was avoidance, as such no real support was forthcoming. She couldn't blame him, her preferred method of tackling issues straight on certainly wasn't bearing fruit.

She had been increasingly thinking that things weren't right, a sticky sense of anxiety that once she acknowledged it would go away. Fleur had thought for a while that Bill wasn't the right man, but he was perfect _apart from his family_.

When she had heard Hermione Granger would be joining her friends she had inwardly sighed. Her Veela part did not enjoy the idea of another female joining them, but the human part of her, the much more dominant part, wasn't sure she could suffer much more whispering behind hands as if she wasn't able to hear.

But Hermione was very different from the girl she remembered, or rather this girl wasn't who others said she was. She became a very welcome addition to the party at the Weasley home. Fresh from a trip with her parents she arrived full of joy and stories. Fleur soon realised that the girl didn't have a ready ear, she saw her repeatedly begin to tell people about the ruins she had seen or the book she had discovered. She watched the girl's heart drop as their eyes would shutter over, or their smile would wain, or in some cases, she would be shut off entirely, on some pretence or other.

She saw it most particularly in the young witches dealings with Ron. How each of her advances, awkward and fumbling as they were, became spurned.

So she engaged her, asked her about _her_ , little things. Trying to complete her training at Gringotts Fleur found she was immensely interested in the insights that Hermione had to offer but more than that… more than the book learning, and academic enthusiasm she discovered that Hermione Granger was kind. _Honestly kind_ … a personality trait far rarer than sparkling wit or brilliance, despite the fact she had those too.

She didn't like her sensible shoes or her ridiculous hair, well not at first, after a while she found it slightly endearing. But she loved the kindness… _the kindness was new_.

As it turned out Hermione spoke French, something that gave Fleur a great sense of comfort, English was still new to her, and so many of the phrases spoken in the house meant nothing, even with what she had managed to learn so far. Hermione would explain, patiently, even when Fleur still didn't understand after the third or fourth attempt.

Weirdly she felt protected by the younger girl, in a house full of people who either sneered or leered at her, albeit discreetly, that one kind face became necessary… they became friends.

-/-

Hermione groaned softly, twisting in the bed and Fleur rocked forward without thought, checking the compress on her head and making sure the bandages around her arm were fixed appropriately

"She's is going to be fine" Bill spoke from the doorway reminding her of his presence "you need to get some rest, you haven't left her bedside since the boys brought her back" he tried for a firm tone.

"I can't," she said faintly, mournfully "not until she wakes up at least."

Bill sighed stepping forward into the room and wrapping her into a hug "you have to tell her when she wakes up, you know that don't you?"

She nodded against his chest, unable to find the words. Whatever fates reason for introducing her to Bill Weasley, whatever the damage the failed relationship had done to their respective hearts, it was worth it for the relationship they had now; it was worth it for her best friend.

She lived in a home she loved by the sea, Bill had asked her to move in and help cover the costs, while she was still working in Gringotts she hadn't seen the point in going back home. Fleur had always planned to return to France, had promised her parents she would, but she couldn't, not after the events at the Department of Mysteries.

That was the first time she had monitored _her_ bedside.

-/-

Fleur was sat in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing attempting to block out Harry's anguished cries and Ron's scrambled gibbering. No noise was coming from Hermione's bed, she laid silent and incredibly, unnaturally still. Minerva, who had been over earlier had said, sorrowfully, that it reminded her of when the little witch had been petrified. All the others were running around like headless chickens, the knowledge that Voldemort was back, now that it was accepted by the wizarding world meant plans had to be made, everything needed to move forward.

No one seemed to be disturbed by the young girl that had taken a near fatal curse to the chest, a young girl that had thrown herself in danger's path again to protect her friends.

Madam Pomfrey had done all she could and so Fleur sat there reading aloud from her Gringotts text, the only thing she had to hand, and silently willed her to wake up.

She decided then and there that she would stay in Britain, see this war out. The girl that had given her comfort when she needed had given it without being asked; she would have it returned if she wanted.

-/-

Fleur had never actually given her strange attachment to Hermione much thought, it just seemed… _right_.

But more answers than she may have wanted burst forth as the trio popped up on the beach their quiet, idyllic vista broken by their sudden arrival.

It should have been the _sight_ of the pale and limp Hermione wedged between the two boys that caught her first.

But it wasn't.

It was _her smell_ or more the smell or more specifically… the smell of her blood.

 _Mate._

Her Veela side was diluted but still robust enough to be able to identify a partner if she should ever meet a true match. Her Grandmother had told her that she would feel a strong bond with that person, would want to move heaven and earth to protect them… that their blood would sing to her, but the sight of it spilt would likely bring on white hot rage.

Fleur had sprung into action, banning anyone from the room, she had tended to Hermione, _her mate_ , tenderly as if her small limbs were made of spun glass. She positioned her too slim frame into the bed and cleaned her with gentle care, softly removing the glass from her hair piece by piece.

She hadn't even realised she was crying until fat wet drops appeared on Hermione's bandages.

She sat in the chair then and waited.

Bill had picked it up quickly of course, as well as being incredibly intelligent and knowing her well he had enough 'other' drifting through his own blood to pick up on these things by instinct.

-/-

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked softly.

"Just keep them from touching her, I'm not sure how I will…." she asked desperately burying her face in her hands.

"Done" he answered resolutely, dropping a kiss on the top of her head.

-/-

Hermione stirred in the bed again, and Fleur jumped from Bill's embrace looming over her as she slowly blinked her eyes open. The prone girl began furiously gasping for air, and Fleur dropped down to reassure her panic "you're safe Hermione, you are at Shell Cottage."

"The boys" she croaked

"They're fine" she soothed

Hermione exhaled a large breath and nodded.

"Is there anything I can get for you?" she asked gently, moving an escaped curl from off Hermione's face.

The injured witch's face twisted, and she shut her eyes tightly "would you… please…. Stay with me" she stuttered out "I don't want to be… I can't be alone."

Fleur leant forward to grasp her hand "you will never be alone Hermione, I promise."

* * *

 _A/N next week I will be having a go at a Lavender x Parvati pairing and then will be continuing to work through the list of prompts I have._


	7. Side A: Track 7

_A/N this is for the last_ femships _week that I am participating in_ Pavender _. Thank you for all of your lovely comments on these shorts._

* * *

 **SIDE A - TRACK 7**

 **Cyndi Lauper - True Colours**

Lavender Brown x Parvati Patil 'Parvender/ Pavender'

* * *

 _Show me a smile then_

 _Don't be unhappy, can't remember_

 _When I last saw you laughing_

 _If this world makes you crazy_

 _And you've taken all you can bear_

 _You call me up_

 _Because you know I'll be there_

 _And I'll see your true colours_

 _Shining through_

 _I see your true colours_

 _And that's why I love you_

 _So don't be afraid to let them show_

 _Your true colours_

 _True colours are beautiful_

 _Like a rainbow_

* * *

Lavender trudged up the winding stairs from the common room to the fourth year girls dorm, gripping the frothy skirts of her gown and counting down the seconds until she could get her too high shoes off and wash the evening off her face.

She had been _so excited_ about the Yule Ball; everything was going to be so perfect. She had spent a month researching the best hairstyle to employ to offset her figure enhancing sky blue frock and when the evening had finally come she and Parvati had pulled it off with meticulous precision. Her soft blonde hair was twisted and curled with the top section pulled off her face exposing her baby blue eyes and rouged cheeks. The rest of her light waves tumbled down her back past the off the shoulder neckline of her perfect dress.

Lavender had been asked to go by Seamus, she liked Seamus, just not in that way, but no one else had asked, and it was better than the prospect of going on her own. Parvati had been asked by Harry, scruffy as he may have been at least he was a TriWizard Champion.

It was going to be brilliant.

Herself and her best friend had spent lessons passing notes, jagged penmanship exposing their excitement. Their evenings were spent side by side, each whisper a more elaborate scenario of what would happen. She laughed until she could barely breathe. They shared hopes of fairytale dances, soft words and heated glances. They spoke of dreams of passionate clinches and determined kisses.

 _It was going to be brilliant._

And then it wasn't.

Not long after arriving Seamus had gone off to find Dean and had all but abandoned her. She had managed a few awkward dances with her classmates but most of the evening was spent observing other people having the time of their lives. Her feet hurt, her hair was pulled so tight she was getting a headache, and the punch was so sweet it almost made her retch...she was _done_.

Lavender pushed the dorm door open wide to find someone else already had the right idea. Parvati was lying flat on her back, on her bed, bare feet resting on the headboard as she stared blankly at the ceiling.

"Good night?" Lavender called as she deposited her shoes on the ground before collapsing next to her best friend on the bed, squished shoulder to shoulder on the small mattress.

"I've had better" Parvati answered dryly, and both girls giggled letting the stresses of the event wash away from them.

Parvati told her all about Harry, his unwillingness to dance and his lack of ability while they were up there, Lavender filled her on on Seamus.

"We should have just gone together" Parvati finished slight wariness in her eyes.

Lavender rolled to rest her head on the other girl's shoulder "Next time" she agreed. She meant it; her mind was suddenly filled with a fast play imagining of how much better the evening would have been if they had gone together.

"Do you think anyone had a good time?" Parvati asked lightly, her fingers grazing the top of Lavender's bare shoulders.

"Hermione" she replied, slight bitterness in her tone "she was with Krum, of all people, who was twirling her around like a delicate ballerina, fetching her drinks and showing her off to his friends".

"No... I saw her leave in tears" Parvati revealed, and Lavender sat up on one arm, leaning over her friend, one eyebrow raised in query "something Ron said" Parvati qualified.

"Figures" she muttered as she flounced back onto her back her eyes tracking the peeling paint from the old ceiling.

The bed suddenly shifted so abruptly Lavender was nearly dislodged from the mattress "hey" she grumbled but didn't have time to continue as a slim arm entered her line of vision and she traced the limb up to Parvati's smiling but determined face.

"Get up" she commanded.

"Why?" Lavender whined.

Parvati signed "because this was a ball, this was _our night,_ and I refuse to let it end without a single good dance."

"I'm not going back down there; I would rather die than put those shoes back on" she rattled out dramatically, pointing to the offending footwear as if identifying the culprit for a heinous crime.

"I didn't say anything about going downstairs did I" Parvati smiled wickedly, and Lavender giggled, forcing herself to her feet and moving to stand in the middle of the room.

"There's no music," she said clumsily.

"Oh please, excuse me for not setting the scene" Parvati huffed before grabbing Lavender's wrists placing her hands on her slim shoulder before moving her hands to Lavender's waist. As she began twirling the blonde erratically, she hummed out a melody that Lavender couldn't quite place and then the lack of proper music didn't seem to matter.

Somehow as the dancing continued the twirling closed in, their movements became slower, and Parvati finished her off-key humming.

Weary from the evening Lavender rested her head on her friend's shoulder and felt Parvati's head lean against hers in turn. Her fingers moved delicately over the jewelled bodice of the other girl's gown, the dress that she had so admired when she first saw it. Not because she wanted it for herself but because it made Parvati look so radiant.

"You looked beautiful tonight" Parvati whispered, "just in case no one else told you."

"I know" Lavender answered against Parvati's neck and both girls giggled "you too."


	8. Side A: Track 8

_A/N for the lovely guest reviewer that wanted to see some Hermione x Oliver Wood, specifically mentioning how beautiful Oliver finds her, I hope this has come somewhere close._

* * *

 **SIDE A - TRACK 8**

 **John Legend - All of Me**

Hermione Granger x Oliver Wood

* * *

 _What would I do without your smart mouth?_

 _Drawing me in, and you kicking me out_

 _You've got my head spinning, no kidding, I can't pin you down_

 _What's going on in that beautiful mind_

 _I'm on your magical mystery ride_

 _And I'm so dizzy, don't know what hit me, but I'll be alright_

 _/_

 _My head's under water_

 _But I'm breathing fine_

 _You're crazy and I'm out of my mind_

 _/_

 _'Cause all of me_

 _Loves all of you_

 _Love your curves and all your edges_

 _All your perfect imperfections_

* * *

Oliver woke suddenly, immediately yanked from the peaceful dream world he had been inhabiting. He looked around for a moment, confusion gripping him till he felt a shift in the bed, he hadn't been sleeping well and his eyes felt heavy and unresponsive as he attempted to blink away the lingering sleep to make out more than bleary shapes in the room.

He stretched his hand out to the other side of the bed and felt a cool breeze on his arm indicating the cover had been lifted.

"Hermione" he grunted, voice just as unresponsive as his eyes "love, its early _please_ get back into bed."

He heard the soft pads of her feet as she walked around the room before he could sense her over him, he opened his eyes just as she dropped her soft lips against his forehead.

"Stay in bed" she implored gently.

"Hermione" he pleaded, lifting his arm again, wanting to touch her, to persuade her to stay.

"I'm fine" she responded tightly, brushing away his needy fingers. Her brittle tone made him wince, she was not fine, not even slightly. Neither of them were.

* * *

Oliver loved lazy mornings, coffee and Quidditch, somehow Hermione Granger had come into his life and made herself the top of that rigid list, a list that hadn't changed since he was fourteen and the ridiculous thing was that she did it without even trying.

They had met again, properly, he supposed he should say, at a party, Ginny Potter was having, following the recent success of her team, a party he had reluctantly agreed to attend. It appeared Hermione's feelings on the slightly inforced revelry were the same, it wasn't that he didn't like gatherings, but there were too many people, all of whom seemed to be determined to have fun at any cost. The room was stuffed with people he had known vaguely, for too many years. How many times could you meet the same _almost_ acquaintances and tell the same stories?

As the only people in the room not engaged in some form of heavy petting, though Blaise Zabini and Luna had moved onto what could more aptly be described as furious rubbing, Oliver and Hermione got into a conversation which quickly became a debate.

Hermione was passionate, opinionated, quick to anger and downright infuriating with her stubbornly held beliefs, all of which he told her, right to her enraged face. She was working at the Ministry in some research role he had never heard of, working on things that made his head hurt to contemplate. She had been drifting through some tangent that had led to her expressing her opinion that Hogwarts allocated a _disproportionate_ amount of time to _Quidditch and Quidditch related things, that had no place in the education system_.

Oliver still remembered that sentence verbatim; he was sure no one he had ever met previously would have had the gall to so resolutely pick at his choice of profession so unapologetically, it took him a while to realise she wasn't deliberately trying to be a bitch, she just really believed what she was saying. He couldn't remember those words without hearing them in the shrill voice she had used, that had irked him almost as much as the stupid words leaving her mouth. It was that night he learnt that Hermione didn't care for imitation, especially _decidedly unflattering impression_ at the top of his voice.

The conversation or by this point dispute felt like it would never end and despite his mind whispering to him that the lass was as immovable as rocks he couldn't help himself, he wanted to continue to prod her. She was just so _bloody responsive_ ; her eyes flashed and her cheeks pinked if he managed to get her really mad her hair would actually spark. Ever the sportsman Oliver began awarding himself points for every little tick she displayed, by the time he had reached three figures he was distantly aware he had moved closer to her, boxing her towards the back door, dominating her attention.

When the party began to fade around them, Oliver decided to circumvent the 'goodbyes' that were no doubt imminent by grabbing a bottle of wine off the counter and steering Hermione towards the floo back to his place. The curly-haired witch didn't even notice that they had shifted location as she was still passionately lecturing him about being an elitist as he had 'the audacity' to have house elves at his family home. When she realised she raged at him at her presumption in taking her back without her consent and he contested how he could be expected to point out to a grown woman that she had walked through a fireplace and somehow hadn't noticed.

At some point, she ran out of steam, long after the first bottle Oliver had pinched was sunk. While their verbal argument petered out, they continued fighting for dominance, mainly on his hallway floor, though he eventually moved them to the downstairs sofa. Neither could have been declared the winner, though technically speaking Hermione did end up on top.

* * *

That first night had been three years ago now, looking back it was inevitable how they ended up, Hermione challenged him in a way he had never experienced before, she was just _so_ different.

She loved him too; it had taken her longer to admit it, her heart was more scarred than his. Oliver was not particularly adept at romance, he had experienced his fair share of dalliances, but meaningful encounters, whereas Hermione had endured the harsh realities of a couple of serious relationships falling apart. Most damaging had been the end of her relationship with Ron, it hadn't been a clean break, there had been sharp words and accusations from both the boy and his disappointed family, arguments that still haunted her now.

Oliver fell in her orbit because of her fire, her spitting rage and passion. Unexpectedly it wasn't her explosiveness that affected his heart; he fell in love with the vulnerability she had hidden beneath her hard exterior, something she only allowed the people very close to her to see.

* * *

Hermione was sat at Oliver's kitchen table; they had been 'seeing' each other for a few months by that point though neither was particularly keen to put a label on what they were, they just wanted to enjoy each other's company. Much to the immense irritation of their friends, not that either of them cared.

A slight huff caught his attention from his place near the fridge, and he edged over to Hermione to look over her shoulder. There on the so-called 'society pages' of The Daily Prophet was an article about them, his eyes were drawn to the picture, a candid shot of them walking through the leafy park near her flat taken just the week before. Their gloved hands were linked, and they both wore matching relaxed expressions. It was a while before he tore his eyes away and caught the subheading 'Quidditch Heartthrob dating The Ministries' Plain Jane'.

"Hermione" he began, resting his hands on her shoulders.

She turned the page violently, ripping the parchment as it turned over, "mindless drivel" she spat with an air of indifference that might have fooled most people, but not him. Words aside she had never been able to hide anything she felt from her face, not that Oliver could see more than a pinched frown, she wouldn't meet his gaze.

Whatever she was _saying_ , she _feeling_ was hurt.

"Do you know how beautiful I think you are?" he asked softly, moving to sit in the chair beside her and delicately tucking some of her hair behind her ear.

She scoffed "I know" she replied lightly, and Oliver shook his head at her obvious deflection. Whenever he complimented her appearance she would affirm his comment but he could tell it never went beyond the surface, it washed off her; she wouldn't say she didn't believe him but it was as good as.

"But I'm gobby, sarcastic and a little mean at times" she continued, eyes dropping to her lap.

"Yes you are" he agreed and her face shifted into an adorable little pout.

He sighed "I leave my boots in the hall, I get up from the table when we are eating to make game notes that have popped into my head, and I do not function if I haven't eaten meat for twenty-four hours…"

She laughed at that, the vegetarian curry night and his legendary mood afterwards were still relatively fresh in both their minds.

He reached forward to pull the paper out of her hands completely "I'm not perfect, I don't expect you to be, but I… I _love_ you… all of you" he ran a calloused thumb over the apple of her cheek and she looked up to meet his eyes "every rounded curve, and every jagged edge… you are _truly_ beautiful Hermione."

Her breath hitched when the word had fallen out of his mouth, the word that he hadn't even known how deeply he felt until that moment. As she drifted forward for their lips to connect Oliver knew she was stalling, knew she was scared of saying it back and baring her heart again, but it didn't matter, when the slow kiss became watery, as the tears slid unchecked from her eyes and he _knew_ she felt it back.

* * *

Oliver twisted under the covers as he heard the door to the bathroom pull shut, swiftly followed by a strong silencing spell voiding out any noise from the little room.

Hermione had been avoiding him like this for a week; he felt a rare sense of unease in his stomach. Something was going on; that much was clear but the fact that she wouldn't talk about it was killing him. They always talked about their problems, sometimes they were _too frank_ with each other, so direct others in their circle would raise their eyebrows at their openness, but that was _their_ way, that was how _they_ did things. Sure the honesty could sting but they trusted each other implicitly.

The silence in the flat was so heavy it felt like a substantial weight pushing against his shoulders during the day, his chest at night.

Knowing he would get no more sleep now Oliver jumped from the bed, dragging on a pair of sweatpants and heading to the kitchen to get some coffee, he had no firm plan other than to attempt to stall Hermione on her way to work.

As he shuffled down the hall he stepped over one of his old Quidditch jerseys that Hermione now used, he hadn't worn that one for a while, that one was the only one she had not 'effectively' stolen, that one he had _given_ to her after the best night of his life.

* * *

They had been dating six months, not the longest time by some people's standards but longer than he had ever managed before. As the biggest match of the season approached, Oliver prepared an incredibly long speech to persuade Hermione to come. The roll of parchment cited various statistics that he had researched, about the enjoyment of sport having a positive impact on overall happiness and productivity, he rehearsed _several_ different versions of heartfelt declarations explaining how much it would mean to him for her to be there. In the end, he had needed none of it, Hermione had woken up early, as usual, on Sunday the week before the game and said, apropos of nothing, 'what should I wear for the game next week?' it had taken Oliver over a minute to respond, stunned by her turn around.

Despite the wasted time in preparation, he was glad of her making the decision without his nagging when he saw Hermione huddled in the stands, he knew she was there because she wanted to be, and Hermione hated everything about it so she was there for him. Everything was great until he took a bludger to the face, the blow knocked him straight of his broom, and he came to in the sterile white confines of the medical tent.

He had been coaxed to sit on the edge of the cot by a Mediwitch who went off to get a stronger pain relief potion when Hermione ran in, her face was sickly pale, and her eyes looked too large on her face.

"Oliver" she croaked, rushing forward to run her eyes over him "Oh thank god, I was so scared" she finished quietly as she carded her fingers gently through his hair.

"I'm ok love, it just _fucking_ hurt" the healer had fixed his nose, but there would be bruising for a while.

"Language" she chastised with none of her usual heat and he smiled against her collarbone.

"I wish I didn't have to come here and watch you play this" she sighed exasperatedly.

He bristled at her attack, her words angering him despite the soothing comfort of her hands "you don't have to come, I know you hate Quidditch" he grumbled.

She backed away slightly, and her eyes narrowed at him, "it's not that you _stupid_ man… Do you have any idea how dangerous your _perfect_ sport is? Tonight wasn't even that serious an accident, _so I'm told_ " she huffed "from the stands it looked like you were dead, all that blood over your face then you hanging limply on the stretcher.

I sit there in the freezing cold _praying_ that you're going to be okay the whole way through, and it's exhausting… Because… Because… Well, I don't know what I would do without you."

Oliver watched her wide-eyed as she shuffled a little and fixed her gaze on the tarpaulin opening behind his head.

"You irritate me more than anyone I have ever met. You eat more than anyone on the planet, and I should know, I sat across the table from Ron Weasley for seven years, yet you still stay slim. My flat is _covered_ in your trainers to the point where I don't understand how you still have more pairs.

When you get angry I have to concentrate ludicrously hard because your accent gets so thick I can barely understand a word you are saying but… _I love you_ … I suppose... and… I would be grateful if you could you at least attempt to not die while you rest on a _stick,_ hundreds of feet in the air."

She was flushed now, and it took a while for him to find his voice. He circled her wrist and pulled her forward till she was nestled between his thighs

"Insufferable, woman" he huffed, his voice dripping in deliberate affection.

"Was that the worst declaration of love ever?" she asked self-consciously.

"Probably" he laughed, "but I'll take it, I'll take it."

* * *

Oliver moved back to the bedroom, placing the mugs on his bedside table and stood in front of the bathroom door squaring his shoulders before raising his fist no less that three times before, finally, falteringly, knocking.

The silence was overwhelming for a minute before he sensed the silencing charm come down and the door clicked open. Feeling his heart in his feet he tried the door, pushing against it lightly till he could see her.

Hermione was sat on the floor, her legs drawn up against her chest and her head resting back on the side of the bath.

"Are you ok?" he asked dumbly, having no idea what he was walking into. When Hermione didn't respond he lowered himself in front of her, hoping to get an explanation but also seeking to block her path in case she should decide to bolt, despite her sporting reluctance she was surprisingly quick. As he drew level with her Oliver noticed how clammy and pale she was "are you sick?" he asked concerned.

Hermione's eyes fluttered open, but they stayed fixed on the ceiling "no.. not sick just..."

He leant forward to hold a hand to her head "You feel really warm" he muttered, his nerves ratcheting, Hermione _didn't do sick_ , she had the worst flu he had ever seen about a year before and she tried to pretend like she was fine. It eventually became known as the illness-that-should-not-be-named, much to her disgust.

"Oliver" she interrupted weakly, her eyes drooping shut.

"I think you might have a temperature" he continued pulling his hand away, he wracked his brains to think of what potions they had in the house, _he could go to Grimmauld they would likely have more, the Potter's kept a pretty full stock what with the kids running about_...

"Oliver."

 _But maybe potions wouldn't be enough, she looked ill, even if she wasn't admitting it. If it was sufficient to get her to sink to the floor it must have been bad, maybe he should try and take her straight to St. Mungo's, though he may have to stun her first..._

"OLIVER" Hermione all but screeched, and Oliver's inner panic came to a crashing halt.

"Sorry, what did you say love?" he asked looking at her intently trying to detect any other symptoms she wasn't confessing, that way he could give the doctor a full report.

She looked down "I'm pregnant" she whispered, the silence of the room became reflected in his mind, and his head fell back against the wall behind him.

"… I know the season is about to start, and I'm due to present my latest thesis and…. were not married… I just, I don't know, I didn't know how to tell you" her eyes filled with tears.

"You're sure," he asked weakly, the forming of those words alone being a struggle.

"I'm sure" she replied hoarsely before looking at him pleadingly "Oliver say something."

His brain shifted into gear as he realised, with no small amount of horror, that she was afraid of his reaction. In quick movements he lifted her off the cold tile floor and folded her into his lap, it was something they did, this position, if she was going mad at him flailing her arms about over a discarded sock or a missed dinner he would ball her up and secure her into his lap until she would laugh. It wasn't the same situation, but he hoped she understood the comfort and reassurance he was trying to convey.

"Do you think they'll have your nose?" he asked into her hair, his voice hitching as he felt, more than heard her choke out a half laugh, half sob.

"As long as they don't have my hair we'll be alright" she replied hesitantly.

"We'll be alright Hermione, I promise."

"Sure?"

"Sure" he replied definitively "as you tell me all the time lass, I'm right stubborn git when I get an idea in my head."

She laughed then, and some of the tension leaked out of her shoulders, Oliver sat there for ages, long after his legs started cramping; he could stretch later, he wouldn't have a chance to get this moment back. The moment he learnt he held his entire world in his lap.


	9. Side A: Track 9

**SIDE A - TRACK 9**

Pictures of You Universe [Luna Lovegood x Rabastan Lestrange]

* * *

How I wish, how I wish you were here.  
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fishbowl, year after year,  
Running over the same old ground.  
What have we found?  
The same old fears.  
Wish you were here

Wish You Were Here - Pink Floyd [1975]

* * *

Luna Lestrange escaped to the garden, giving into the desire to ditch her shoes and walk barefoot into the long grass to stand beneath the stars. Letting her head fall back slowly, she breathed in a large pull of air before settling herself onto the slightly sodden turf. It wouldn't be the best idea for her to remain out there too long, not now the sky was darkening, and dew was settling on the ground. A little while would be fine, time enough to ask the questions she had of the universe; then she would go back inside to enjoy the revelry.

As the noises from the party wafted over to her, Luna laid back, her hair splaying around her, and let herself relax, taking comfort in the firm certainty of the earth beneath her body. Idly she placed both hands on her stomach as she searched the sky for familiar constellations.

Her mother had been the first to tell her about the stars, tales of Gods and Monsters, of consuming love and utter devastation. The stories she had grown up committing to memory differed from the ones she had later learnt in Astronomy; the 'official' ones weren't wholly removed from the epic sagas her mother had weaved, but Luna found them lacking in the inevitable comparison. Like the difference between a transparent window and one made of multi-coloured stained glass, both let the light in, but, where one illuminated, the other let you bathe in a kaleidoscopic spectrum. Maybe that was why they remained so clear in her mind, _even now_ , so many years since she had gone.

Her father had taken her out into the night after her mother had died, he would hold her on his lap in the grounds of their family home, pulling his robe around her gently, to hide her from the chill. Xenophilius attempted to tell his small daughter the same stories, he must have heard them often enough himself, but he could never quite manage it, some detail would be forgotten. Luna would remind him, and he would laugh, a little broken sound, 'that's right' he would concede quietly, 'I'm not as good at this as she was'. Luna would fold herself around him, 'different Daddy' she would say, 'just different'.

Then there had been _him_.

Rabastan, who had swept into the dungeons at Malfoy Manor and coaxed her back to hope. Appearing as he was, a grim, dark spectre, only just holding the ravages of his aura together, and yet she never feared him, he intrigued her. He came back, time after time, though Luna could concede she offered him little encouragement, he brought her food, warmth and much-needed affection. When she had said she missed the night sky, he presented her with a book so she could see the stars, without ever asking _why_ she needed it for her comfort. The wizard had made the entire universe fit inside bound parchment pages as his first act of devotion, every action that followed had been as heartfelt. Whenever he came to her, he seemed to offer her another iteration of the whole world, and all he would ask was that it met with her approval.

Luna wasn't sure she could ever feel more than she felt for Rab, but she was proved wrong each new day, as sunlight drifted into their room and illuminated his dark face Luna knew she loved him a little more. As time eased away the lingering haunted lines of his face, and the clawing nightmares that attacked him in slumber drifted, becoming further apart, she watched the shell of the man fill out. She proudly stood next to him as he became the person he had promised to be, the person she had seen in him when he was gripped by madness, fury and grief.

Luna had achieved what her mother had wanted for her, despite her feeling as if it may never happen. She had a happy life that orbited around a consuming love, wrapped around so much more than her heart, an emotion that permeated as deep as her bones, a passion that tendriled around her soul, and a companionship that was as vital as breathing. She just wished her mother could have been there to see it.

Luna questioned her decisions more than she would ever let on, having Perdy while still quite young herself had been a trial, not that she didn't love her girl with everything she was, but Luna couldn't help asking herself if she was doing all she could to correct the wrongs of the past.

Then there was Hermione. There wasn't a mother left in their group, but she and her best friend tried to make it up with each other. Hermione had been invaluable when she had Perdita, had been at the birth and was a constant source of unfailing support; she never judged, never complained, she was just _there_. For all of the curly haired witch's posturing about doing things _her_ way, she backed Luna and her decisions entirely. Her own time was coming soon; Hermione would welcome the birth of her children in the weeks to come. Luna knew her friend would need her in the same way; Luna could see the familiar panic settle behind her friend's eyes as the time approached, she hoped she was strong enough to be of comfort.

The French doors slid open behind her, and heavy booted feet fell onto the stone path leading down to her resting place. "Come on love, you should be inside," Rabastan called, "Severus just made a derogatory comment about country living, and Dolph has had just about enough firewhisky to make the argument worthwhile."

"Mmmm," she replied noncommittally, her eyes still searching the heavens.

"What are you doing?" he said, more quietly this time, as he reached her, standing by her head.

"Looking at the stars."

"Yes, love, I can see that."

He sighed before stepping to the side of her and sweeping her up as if she weighed no more than a bag of sugar, settling on the ground with her on his lap.

"You shouldn't lay on the ground, it's wet, you could get sick," he mumbled as he ran his hands over her arms, his dancing fingers breathing heat into her chilled skin.

She hadn't understood his overprotective nature when they had first lived together; Luna had always been free of constraints and rules while growing up and his attention felt smothering. Over time even her serene countenance broke with his increasing instance on layers, not leaving the manor with wet hair and a total fear of colds. It took a long time for all of the pieces to push together.

Azkaban had cast a long shadow over all of them.

Luna leant into Rab as she looked back up at the stars, it was so peaceful with him; she didn't have to fill every silence or explain all of her words, he just understood, she supposed they all did now. She lived amongst a group of people who accepted her totally; even Yax would shout at people in the 'real world' if they made a face to indicate they hadn't interpreted what she was saying. She knew Severus found her hard work at times, but then he found kinship of any kind traumatic, the wizard had lived almost entirely by himself, and as a result, he faced the largest adjustment to their new way of life. Luna found his lack of patience with her more humorous than intimidating, and if he ever went too far, Hermione intervened, fiercely. For a man that was so determined _never_ to supplicate himself to anyone again, he certainly fell over backwards to make Hermione happy.

"What did you want to ask?" Rabastan inquired laying a gentle kiss against her shoulder.

His questions broke her out of her silent reverie, and she turned in his grasp to face him with raised eyebrows, he smiled softly at her.

"Your mum, you always end up stargazing when you have a question for her," he said, his eyes full of affection.

Luna exhaled and leant back on him, "Whether I'm enough," she admitted quietly.

"What do you mean? Of course, you're enough, how much _more_ could you be?" he protested vehemently.

"No, I mean," She sighed, "I just wish she was here."

His arm tightened around her, "I know."

The quiet of the night fell around them, and Luna thought about what to say to ease her husband's mind, he was probably already questioning her contentment.

"It's not that I'm unhappy, far from it," she asserted gently, and she felt his form sag behind her, _all this time and he still worried_. Sometimes his doubt made her angry but not at him, at the world, Hermione had relayed the same about Antonin, and so they adjusted, maybe they would always need reassurance on some level.

"I… I wish she could see it sometimes, the life we have built, I wish I could see her hold Perdy, hear her tell me everything I'm doing is right."

Rabastan kissed the side of her temple, "I wish my mother were here to… sometimes… she would have loved you so much."

"Really?"

"Yes, completely, not as much as I love you of course," he said with an edge of humour in his voice, that made her face split into a broad grin.

"I understand that it feels overwhelming at times," he continued, "that you want her approval and for her to see how well you've done, we all want that… that validation. Everything was so _wrong_ for such a long time that it's natural to yearn for proof you are on the right track."

Luna turned in his lap awkwardly to face him, meeting his concerned eyes with a soft look. " _I know_ I'm on the right track," she whispered as she nuzzled against his jaw.

He dropped a kiss into her hair, and they sat quietly under the stars, bathed in moonlight, wrapped in love and the surety of each other's presence, listening to the sounds of their devoted family filter across the manicured garden.


	10. Side A: Track 10

**SIDE A - TRACK 10**

 **Jack Johnson -** **Sitting, Waiting, Watching**

 _Hermione Granger x Anthony Goldstein_

* * *

 _Well I was sitting, waiting, wishing_

 _You believed in superstitions_

 _Then maybe you'd see the signs_

 _/_

 _Lord knows that this world is cruel_

 _And I ain't the Lord no I'm just a fool_

 _And a loving somebody don't make them love you_

* * *

Anthony Goldstein grabbed the proffered styrofoam coffee cup, impressed that the barista, who had seemed to be paying no attention to his order, had gotten both his name and his drink correct. Walking away from the counter he jostled the cup in his hands as he adjusted his scarf in preparation for facing the winter chill again.

Turning abruptly he stilled as he collided straight into someone, someone who must have been stood almost directly behind him. His large hand automatically shot out to steady them, hoping to prevent them from falling all the way to the floor, he swiftly deposited his cup on a nearby flat surface, to make sure he didn't spill any of the burning hot contents on his latest victim, it wasn't an overreaction, he had done exactly that before.

He shut his eyes for a second, and he allowed a moment of internal screaming, his mind raging at him for being such a _blundering idiot,_ though his usual four verse scolding ended unexpectedly when he heard "Anthony?" murmured in a familiar voice, an _incredibly_ familiar voice.

His eyes snapped open, and he realised two things in quick succession, firstly the reason he hadn't seen the person when he had turned was because they were easily over a foot shorter than him, the second was that person was... "Hermione?" the name fell from his mouth coated heavily in the extreme surprise he felt.

Hermione. _Hermione Granger_ , Anthony could feel the heat rising in his cheeks and was mortified that at the age of twenty-five he was still blushing like a child in front of her, of course, the mortification only made his predicament worse. Pushing against the tidal wave of thoughts that had just crashed against his forehead he forced himself to speak, "I am so... terribly…. sorry" he managed, slightly fumbling and he winced when he noticed he still had her arm in his firm grip. He released it with a barely audible further apology and took a step back from her for good measure.

"No problem," Hermione said softly, and she smiled, one of her warm, happy, genuine smiles, that made her face look as if it was opening like the soft petals of a spring flower, "I wasn't watching where I was going either… we must make a right pair huh?" she said with laughter in her tone.

Anthony was immediately struck mute by her casual disregard for his clumsiness, so instead of answering her _like a normal human being_ he just about managed a nod. He just couldn't believe he was stood in front of her, Hermione Granger, in a random muggle coffee shop of all places. _If you had known you could have word something better_ , he chastised himself, but he quickly realised with relief that she couldn't see the tatty jumper he favoured for quiet days under his bulky winter coat.

She looked markedly different from the last time he had seen her, though that had been over two years ago, at one of the larger Hogwart's reunions. He went every year but Hermione, it seemed, couldn't always make it. He often wondered where she was while he was at those things year after year, reciting the same stories and eating the same, dull, hors d'oeuvres. _Of out with some mysterious wizard, with a dynamic career and opinions on the best wine to have with certain delicacies no doubt._ For some reason he always imagined her on a yacht during those occasions, sipping champagne and laughing about someone's ill-informed opinions with her talented, beautiful friends.

Her hair was still the same as ever; he reflected with some amusement, he wondered if the men in her life thought it made her unique, captivating, or maybe they thought it hid some of her natural beauty, not taking it away from it as such but making it harder to find. _Of course they did_ , they would hardly be idiots if she were interested in them.

She still wasn't glamorous, despite the situations he had often imagined her in depicting her thus. Her unruly hair was pulled back into a regulation looking french braid, a lot more successfully than many of the attempts she had made at the same style while they were in classes together. She was wearing Healer robes, well they were transfigured into something to suit their more muggle environment, but she had obviously done so quickly, the colour and emblems were still visible.

"Anthony?" a soft inquiring voice said, and he snapped out of what, he hoped, hadn't been an entirely obvious perusal of her.

"Ah sorry did you say something?" he managed in a slightly waving tone. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

She smiled again, one of her little, quirky smiles, the soft ones that barely changed the shape of her face but made her eyes shine with barely suppressed humour.

"I was just asking how you are" she replied encouragingly " I didn't expect to see you, in here of all places," she said, waving her arm around their surroundings.

"No, I suppose not" he answered quickly, keen to not be seen gazing off into the middle distance again. "This place is near to my parent's house."

She opened her mouth to speak again, but their brief reunion was interrupted by the barista shouting a mangled version of Hermione's name which made the woman in question roll her eyes before she lunged forward to grab her cup. As her hand lifted she quickly glanced at her wrist and the watch exposed there as her sleeve pulled back, when she turned back around he saw her eyes had widened comically.

"I am so _sorry_ Antony, but I'm in a real rush, I didn't even have time for this coffee even. It's been manic today, a kid ate a whole box full of volcanic ants and has been throwing up lava for three hours and then there was a lady with a potions ladle inserted into… and…. well…" she rambled the words tumbling out one after the other as she stepped away from him, "it was great to see you too, though" she finished before adjusting her jacket and making a beeline for the door.

"Yes.." he replied earnestly "you too Hermione" he called after her just before the door could close behind her.

* * *

A week later Anthony was in the coffee shop again, only this time he had asked to sit in. He made his way to a table in the middle of the cramped in chairs and tried to decide whether to be grateful or not the place was relatively empty. He sat facing the door and put a book in front of him that he mostly ignored. Instead, he spent his time oscillating between agreeing with the voices in his head, telling him to _get back up and stop being so pathetic_ , and shutting them out so he could watch the door and the street beyond it. Anthony had reasoned that seeing Hermione at the same time, on the same day the previous week had probably meant that she was there on a break from her shift. The fact that she was rushing must have meant it was the end of her allotted time, so, he coming to that conclusion he had come today, an hour before his last visit, despite the slim, slim, chance that she would appear.

 _Not that he had reflected on it that much_ , he thought to himself derisively. Anthony sighed. Unfortunately, this behaviour wasn't all that unusual for him, not that he made a habit of stalking women. He had been aware of Hermione Granger since their first year at Hogwarts, and this was certainly not the first time he had deliberately put himself in her path, though admittedly, he did _usually_ pull himself straight back out of it as soon as he saw her.

At the end of their first year, the final grade results had been posted on the bulletin board outside the Great Hall; that's when he had first taken notice. There in the measured, even script of Professor McGonagall was ' _#1 Hermione Granger_ ', and that wasn't even of Gryffindor that was of the whole year group. His name was listed in the top five, a position it remained in throughout his schooling, he had always been smart but she was something more than that, her attitude towards study was legendary. She was a muggleborn _determined_ to prove himself in a new world. As a half blood who shared magical and Jewish blood, he thought he understood more than most some of the factors that made her who she was.

While he may have been aware of her from the off, he had felt he had _known_ her since the third year. Anthony had never been sure how or why but he always seemed to overhear conversations concerning her; people spoke of her often. She wasn't overly popular, not that it appeared to phase her, though he noted the amount of people that went to her for advice. Hermione could be cold, hard and opinionated but also warm and caring for those who needed it. She could be spectacular closed minded if she believed she was in the right about something, which was often, but she also made herself a further topic of ridicule by publicly and steadfastly supporting causes that were close to her heart.

With that in mind he had attempted several times to speak to her, sometimes with a feigned academic question, at times with a real one. Somehow he thought she might distrust any other approach; she didn't seem any more adept a small talk than he was; he had ascertained enough about her to know she was unused to people outside his little circle of select friends. No matter what the approach he settled on the result was always the same, he always chickened out.

Despite his interest, if he could have called it that at that stage, he was shy. Sure he had great friends, got on with most of his house and managed to attract a bit of female attention, but it took him a little while to warm up to people. All of his plans to gently set up a situation came to nothing and as no natural one ever presented itself he never got close.

He finally worked up the nerve to speak to her in the fifth year, _sort of_. When himself and his friends in Ravenclaw heard that Hermione was arranging a meeting at the Hog's Head to talk about alternative training for Defence they had been determined to go along. She had stood before them all, talking about Umbridge, passion shining on her face despite the apparent reticence in the crowd. When she suggested they 'take matters into their hands' he had managed a 'here here', and when the words left his lips, she had turned to smile at him, one of her bright, beatific smiles that illuminated her whole face and made her back straighten. Small words, ones he hadn't even said to her, more shouted in her general direction, he felt ridiculous until he looked at her, saw how her eyes softened, how they seemed to say thank you in reply, spoke of how relieved she was to have some support. He remembered that non-conversation, cherished it as if it had been a memory of an evening spent in each other's arms talking about their dreams.

He had been half in love with her since the sixth year. Seeing her walk into Slughorn's party with Cormac, of all people, had sent him into a tailspin. He had blamed himself later when she was, seemingly unwillingly, kissed under the mistletoe, maybe if he had expressed his interest she would have gone with him, though he knew he would never know. He couldn't even fool himself by making the hollow wish of a time-turner, even if he'd had his time again he knew he would never have acted on his impulses where she was concerned. Some might have said he had nothing to lose; his friends certainly saw it that way, he disagreed. He had his hope, and as that was the only thing he was ever likely to have he wouldn't throw it away on maybe, it was too precious for that. Instead, he drank _a lot_ of firewhiskey that night.

In their final year, he had been so relieved when he saw her, finally, stumbling into the Room of Requirement, looking like absolute hell, that he had frozen. He had spent the whole year, living under the oppressive rule of The Carrows telling himself that if he ever saw Hermione again, he would ask her for a drink, dinner, anything, but as soon as he saw her he knew he couldn't. He couldn't shut out the voices that said he was a coward, even as he fought alongside the other child soldiers of his generation. Couldn't shut them out because he agreed.

As the heavy glass door of the coffee shop clanged open Anthony looked up from the muffin he had shredded into a hundred pieces to see Hermione walking in shaking off an umbrella, _just like that_.

She spotted him as she walked in, immediately, her beautiful, expressive eyes lingering on wholly unremarkable him. When recognition shone in her face, she gave him a little wave and one of her surprised smiles, one of the ones that looked as if it found its way onto her face before she had realised, and made her way to the counter.

Anthony looked back down and weighed his options; he could leave quickly, if he ever saw her again he could say he had gotten an emergency call or something, would that work? Or well, he supposed it didn't matter she might not even notice. Or he thought... he could…

"Can I sit down?"

Anthony jumped at the intrusion into his thoughts and looked up to find Hermione holding a tea cup, made of china, not styrofoam, her face neutral waiting for a response.

"Sure, sure," he said quickly, and he hoped casually, before reaching forward to hurriedly wipe the disintegrated muffin out of the way only to knock half of it on the floor. He was about to start apologising for his clumsiness _again_ , but Hermione didn't seem to have noticed.

"Sorry for running off the other day," she said brightly, setting herself into the chair next to him "I was late back from lunch break, and we were short staffed because of this…" she stopped herself and looked up a little sheepishly "sorry, sorry, boring I know."

Anthony wanted to tell her that he wasn't sure she could ever say _anything_ boring but kept his mouth firmly shut still slightly awed that she was there let alone that she had opted to sit next to him.

"So what is it that you do?" Hermione murmured, reaching forward to rip into her prepacked sandwich and looking at him expectantly "I don't think we've ever actually chatted properly at one of those god awful reunion things."

His throat dried "well, actually I work for Gringotts, I use advanced Arithmancy equations to help predict the muggle stock exchange and advise them on their investments" he said quickly, using the simplest explanation that he had honed over the years.

"Wow, what a cool job" he felt his heart stop, and his cheeks pink for a moment but when he forced himself to look up he realised, unbelievably, that she wasn't being sarcastic.

"What it like working with the Goblins? I thought about working for them myself, once upon a time, though" she dropped her voice into a theatrical whisper "they don't like me very much on account of me setting free one of their dragons."

She gave him her secret smiles, where her teeth bit into one side of her bottom lip as if fighting away the smirk that was starting on the other side, despite his nerves he found himself smiling in return.

"Your picture is still behind the tills you know on the 'watch carefully' list" he answered conspiratorially, daring to dip his head forward just a fraction as she had done. Hermione boomed out a long laugh at that, and he felt his fingers come to rest on his mug rather than dancing along the porcelain surface.

She asked him question after question about his job, and she spoke at length about what she had been up to since Hogwarts, he even managed a few questions himself until he looked over and spied the time.

"Hermione," he said pointing to the clock, hating himself for being the one to point it out.

"Crap," she murmured "where does the time go? thank you for letting me sit with you" and began layering herself back up.

 _Now or never_ , he thought to himself.

"Erm… Hermione." he all but whispered as his fingers gripped the now cold cup in front of him tightly as if he could use it as an anchor. _After all how bad could it be?_

"Would you… err… would you go to dinner… with me?" he forced out, looking at her as much as he was able.

She stopped to look at him, and her normally emotion filled expression was totally blank.

 _He supposed he could always move to Ecuador; it looked nice, and the Goblins could probably transfer him._

Her perfect smile stretched across her face, the one that made her look so radiantly beautiful and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "I would love that," she said brightly, leaning forward quickly to write a note on the scrap of her till receipt that was on the table "that's my floo and mobile number, a mobile is a… oh, I probably don't have to explain that do it?"

He smiled back at her then, the first genuine one he had ever managed so close to her before, and shook his head. It hadn't sunk in yet, the nerves of what he had set in motion would come but for now, he was riding high on a wave of previously undiscovered adrenaline, and he couldn't hold back. He released his grip on the cup to pick up the piece of paper she proffered, and he wondered if it would be too much to get it framed.

"Hermione, can I ask a quick question?" he asked suddenly surprising himself.

She paused in her speedy actions of adding layers to look back at him, mumbling her assent.

"What do you do, when you don't go the the reunions?"

Her face broke into a flush that had almost total coverage on her cheeks, and he immediately regretted asking, _this is what you get for pushing_ , clearly something a lot more exciting than he had ever experienced. He felt sick as she leant over whispering "you won't tell anyone?"

Once he had given her assurances he didn't feel he could back away.

"I stay at home with my cat," she said self-consciously but with a familiar little bite of defiance "I hate those things, all the faff and the dressing up to exchange the same old stories, I suppose I'm just a bit boring like that."

She smiled at him, one of her self-conscious smiles that betrayed she was nervous about his response to her admission, nervous of what he thought of her, and just like that; the hope was back.


	11. Side B: Track 1

**SIDE B- TRACK 1**

 **Arctic Monkeys -** **Cornerstone**

 _Minerva McGonagall x Professor (Cuthbert) Binns_

* * *

 _I thought I saw you in the rusty hook_

 _Huddled up in wicker chair_

 _I wandered up for a closer look_

 _And kissed whoever was sitting there_

* * *

Reacting to dilating eyes of the man in front of her Minerva leant forward, sloping her shoulders to align herself with his body, the best she could in the confined space. Another hasty kiss, another strangled sigh and she felt her fur stole slip, drifting from being cradled around her neck to draping over her ankles in the footwell. She paid it no mind. Shuffling forward she leant at a different angle to get over the awkwardly positioned gear stick, and bit back a laugh as she failed to get comfortable. She supposed she should have been more careful of the new looking interior, but she hadn't been prepared. Well, for this subtle dance and merging of lips she had, but the quality of his car had been a surprise. Minerva had never been a great lover of surprises, surprises meant you hadn't planned adequately, meant you had left yourself exposed. She hadn't adjusted her planned attack, for an attack it was, though maybe she should have been a little more considerate of the soft leather.

She couldn't blame herself for not foreseeing this, in every other way he had seemed so practical, conservative, measured. It was those reliable qualities that had drawn her to him in the first place, so many shadows of… but that didn't matter now.

He falteringly laid a hand on her arm as his other hand connected with her knee; she registered somewhere in the back of her mind that his fingers were trembling, but she pushed it back behind the wall. The wall where all of her other negative thoughts were hanging out together, tutting at her recent bout of wanton behaviour. A chill alerted her that her stockings had been exposed, her skirt having ridden up thanks to her jostling and Minerva attempted to right herself as much as she was able, _there were limits after all_.

As he rubbed hesitant circles against her knee, Minerva idly ruminated that her Mother would have been appalled if she had known what she was up to on this foggy Saturday night. Kissing a man she had only had two dates with, in his car. Minerva privately thought that it wasn't the act itself that would have upset her Mother, but the passion she displayed. She had been brought up to believe that kissing a partner was an entirely perfunctory business, something that women had to do, and as such it was best just to get on with it. She was further instructed that necessary as such liberties were, it was vital to remember not be too encouraging, _lest he gets ideas_.

This particular _display_ probably looked more passionate from the outside than she felt, she was coaxing herself through it mainly. To her it had been something to _try out_ , she wanted to see if she _could_ do it. The back of her newish shoes pinched, and Minerva pushed her knees forward, into his hand, to alleviate some of the pressure on her heels. That he read the move as her increasing interest was a bonus.

It had been leading to this since the date started, she had picked her outfit with special care, sending subtle signals, a darker hue of lip, a less subtle sweep of liner on her eyelid. Long sideways glances in the cinema they had sat in together while he placed her hand in his and massaged the back...

"Minerva" he breathed out, his voice harsh, the heat of his words clawing against her neck. Just like that, the pretence was gone, the sound of his voice, the tone he used… it was _all_ wrong.

Minerva instantly pulled back, moving her body from the warmth of his and looked at him, really looked at him, trying _valiantly_ to prevent her frame from giving into the slump she had just felt in her mind. She studied him for a moment and blinked, suddenly all of the imaginings seemed pointless, the inaccuracies were so obvious they positively screamed at her. There would be no going back now.

She sat better on the seat, primly lifting her bum, pulling down her skirt as much as she was able and smoothing the end over her knees. "Take me home," she said in a quiet voice, a voice not half as affected or breathy as his had been. He didn't protest just nodded blandly, and the car roared to life a moment later. As he turned the wheel, she noticed his robes didn't have patches on the elbows, as he checked the lights she saw his glasses weren't quite the same. His eyes were to… alive.

* * *

After Minerva had choked out her simple goodbye, she exited the car, waiting until it had disappeared from view before pulling out her compact to readjust herself in the mirror. She eyed her reflection critically; _twenty-five_ she sighed. _Twenty-five and still chasing rainbows._

* * *

Minerva walked into the flat she shared with Poppy to find the other girl leaning one shoulder against the wall waiting for her. "Another non-starter?" she asked with a quirk of her brow, wiggling the wooden spoon that was clasped in her fingers.

Minerva made a face, to relate her disinterest, she couldn't bring herself to speak yet. She kicked off her heels and went to walk into her room.

"You have to stop being so fussy, a girl of your age" Poppy called over her shoulder "they'll stop crawling around soon."

Minerva didn't know if that was such a bad thing.

* * *

The next time she wore the shoes that pinched Minerva was navigating the over-long drive up to Hogwarts school, her mind as occupied as ever. She wasn't sure if this was such a great idea.

She hadn't been back since she left, it seemed strange to view the impressive castle as an adult. She wondered if all of her cultivated fancies about the place would come back or whether she was too jaded to enjoy the enchantment of it now. She reached into her bag to ensure the letter was still there, gripping her fingers around the parchment that had gone soft from being handled so often. The missive from Dumbledore came as she was debating what to do next, life at The Ministry was challenging and rewarding, but frustrating beyond measure, she wanted to be able to affect more change.

Albus Dumbledore was someone she had admired while in attendance herself. The Transfiguration Professor was masterful, wise and a good sight more intune with the ways of the modern world, not to mention the aspirations of the modern witch, than Headmaster " _Dippy_ " Dippet. And apparently he was in need of an apprentice, 'a role with a view to taking over the position' his note had said. She was flattered, certainly, and a small part of her couldn't shut away the from voice that whispered that long ago this would have been her dream. But that was all it had been in the end… a dream.

* * *

 _Minerva McGonagall stood in front of the tarnished mirror and pulled her hair back into a simple chignon, out of her face. She never wore her long dark locks down, not at school, where such an act would give her a relaxed demeanour, she had worked too hard to give the opposite impression of herself. Not at home where it would have been seen as too progressive for her conservative Mother._

 _As a girl of recently turned seventeen, her primary focus in life was to make people think she was older. If she couldn't achieve that she delighted when, despite knowing her exact age, they would say she was 'an old soul' or her favourite 'you have an old head on your shoulders'. She longed to be respected, consulted on her views asked her thoughts, regardless of the age and gender that worked against her._

 _Stepping back from the mirror so she could see her the top of her chest, she straightened her hard-earned Head Girl badge and walked into the corridor, ducking the clusters of students as she went._

 _She didn't think in the same way as her peer group that much was obvious, though they had a very definite set of ideas about her, they were just too stupid to realise she had given them most of them. Curt, grave and dominant, that was how she was regularly described. The words brought a smile to her face. When she had come to school, she had changed herself in subtle ways, nothing overly dramatic, more of a redrawing of her outline than a total revision. She let the Scottish inflexion in her tone shine through; she had always liked the way the brogue licked at the words; it gave her an air of exasperated impatience that she enjoyed immensely. She dressed prominently in dark colours, sharp angles and clean lines. Her makeup was sparse, and she used it to define her features rather than mask them. 'Not delicate', 'not soft enough' she heard whispered most often, words that signalled that her desired metamorphosis was complete._

 _As if she cared that the rabble didn't think her the type of girl to wear a pretty dress and stand by walls, waiting politely for a dance to be requested, pah! Minerva McGonagall was a witch in a time for wizards. When she first started at Hogwarts she realised she was as strong as any of her male counterparts, by her second year she knew she would have to be stronger for it to matter. Minerva was determined to make her way in the world without having to rely on a marriage contract to open doors for her, anything she achieved would be through her blood, sweat and tears, and it would all be worth it._

 _Her fingers twitched around the edges of her worn textbook as she walked into the back of the classroom. She sashayed between the banks of desk taking her usual seat and withdrawing her parchment to set up her materials. None of the other students, not even her closest friends, would know that she had a secret. That's what she called it; 'her secret'. 'Crush' was such a juvenile word, she wanted no association with it, especially now her emotions made it seem like a paltry representation of what she felt._

 _Finished with her bag, she arranged herself formally at her desk and waited for the lesson to begin, bang on the hour like it always did. Professor Cuthbert Binns would speak for fifty minutes exactly, never faltering in his steady monotone delivery, never wavering in his projection whatever was going on in the room._

 _As the clock glided towards the hour their Professor stood from the comfortable chair that was stationed at the bottom of the room, the seats all above him, arranged like a circle amphitheatre. He looked up as if totally disinterested and when the room fell silent he eyed the hands of the clock to his right, with the final click of the expected hand he sucked in a breath and began his speech._

 _Minerva wrote furiously, eager to catch every considered word. They all called him boring, but she didn't think so. No one seemed to appreciate that he stood there, under the gaze of all of them, and spoke without adjusting his tone or speed and all without any notes, all of that insight from memory alone, it was astounding to her. The other students fell asleep, bored out of their minds by the rhythmic reciting of dates and battles, but Minerva focused with rapt attention. People said he was an awful teacher, but she didn't agree with that either if they just listened they would discover what she knew; what he said was always intelligent and sometimes, some blissful times, rather funny, he just didn't seem to care whether or not they kept up. He didn't pander or coddle._

 _Minerva didn't want to be coddled._

 _When she knew he had gone off on a tangent, she remembered things, little things, like when he made a slim joke about the illegality of appeal rejections made during the campaign for Centaur rights, and she had smiled, quite inadvertently. She hadn't meant to, by now she was used to schooling her features into severe lines, but his quip had permeated her shell, and she had responded. As his eyes had swept around the room he had caught her expression, it made his flow of words falter for half a second, just a brief pause, no longer than a heartbeat, but it was something shared, her unfamiliar expression and his silence._

 _It was something._

 _When Minerva felt she could glance unobserved, she did so. Her Professor was wholly unremarkable at first glimpse; regulation brown trousers and a plain white shirt. He donned some variant of that outfit every day, sometimes adding a well-worn blazer, or sometimes, with less frequency, when it was cold, a chunky knit cardigan. She wondered, during those months, if he had someone. Possibly the special person who knitted that jumper? Or maybe they only brought it, but they chided him into wearing it on mornings when frost attacked the glass of their bedroom, lest he gets cold._

 _He made a point, a momentary interjection of his own thoughts into proceedings and Minerva knew no one would have noticed, she wanted to shake them awake, and at the same time, she was loathed to share him. She disagreed with his assessment, not based on fundamentals values he purported but the application of law he was suggesting. She longed to put her hand up, to argue with him, but that was not what they did here. That was not what his classes were._

 _Minerva leant back down into her bag for a second bottle of ink; her moves were deliberately gentle so as not to jostle the sleeping students all around her. She couldn't say when she first knew she was in love with him. She knows now that her feelings are way more than a harboured torch, though she tries not to think of it often. It was easy for her to grasp the one-sided nature of her affections and they did not make for satisfying reflection material. Minerva supposed she really knew when she became aware she was judging everyone against him, measuring them against what had seemed at the time like a conjured list of criteria. Until she compared her desires to him, she could see it then, with perfect clarity, that her mind had not created such a wish list from scratch, no, it had merely traced his outline._

 _No one she met was ever quite there, something would be off, some line wouldn't fit. When she accepted that a re-drawing wasn't likely, she knew she had to revisit and revise her options. Never let it be said that Minerva McGonagall wasn't a realist. When she knew it was not going away, she considered the time frames she had to work with. She would be leaving soon, leaving school and leaving the classification that came with it. She could approach him then, not as a student but as a young woman._

 _Minerva moved a full side of parchment to the other side of the desk to dry and began on a fresh sheet. Did he live in Hogsmeade? She wondered, or maybe in the school itself. He was older than her clearly, though she knew he wasn't married, did he still yearn for children?_

 _Minerva packed her books away at the end of the lesson, her harsh noises waking up the slumbering heads around her, she paid them no notice. Three more weeks. She hoped he would give her the opportunity to get answers to all of her questions._

* * *

Minerva sat in the little chair in front of Headmaster Dippet, glad to be off her feet. She nodded her head in all the right places as he went on, and on, and on. She tried to smile at his simpering, but it was unnatural. She had never perfected a good fake smile; she had never wanted to do such a thing when she was young. _Idealistic_ , she thinks now; she had no idea how much she would need that smile as an adult.

In fairness to the charmless man in front of her, it was not all his fault. At least partly it was being here again, in the building where the events somehow turned her fondest wish into something of a cruel joke. Just the mere act of quirking her lips seemed an almost impossible task given the weight she could feel dragging her down.

Finally, he was done with her, and she stood, towering over the man as she was invited to head to the staff room and meet her 'colleagues'. Minerva left the office with a spring in her step, eager, but the excitement of momentary freedom was long gone by the time she reached the intended door, the adrenaline had wilted away leaving her exposed, once again, to the all-consuming tide of her mounting trepidation.

* * *

 _It was the very last week of her final term when it happened. Minerva had her speech prepared for three months by that point. Perfected, at least she thought so. Each time she saw him now, she could feel the anxiety building in her chest. Soon, she would tell herself and push her fingers under her legs to stop herself fidgeting, soon._

 _She was sat in the front of that particular lesson and so wasn't one of the first to see, she had begun moving forward as the day of her departure neared, it didn't seem as important to feign indifference given her intentions. Though she couldn't see what was happening she heard the commotion from the back of the room immediately, a disorder in his classroom was almost unheard of, and Minerva sat up in her seat, disquiet straightening her spine, what was happening?_

 _Her Professor got to the front and exactly on the hour began his speech, just like normal, though this time no one drifted off into a peaceful sleep. Every student in the room stared at him with the same level of intensity she did when no one else was watching, and Minerva felt the breath catch in her throat. Her eyes ran over his regular clothes, the way the natural curl of his hair was visible in the long strands at the back, towards his starched collar. All the same, except he was… translucent._

 _After ten minutes of his speech, ten minutes where nothing was explained someone put their hand up, Minerva didn't know who, her brain couldn't process who the voice belonged to._

" _Professor Binns?" the little voice said when the hand was ignored._

 _Cuthbert, as she had called him, privately, for so long started in response to the unexpected interruption "Yes Mister… Er"_

" _Belby Sir… um… are you a… are you a ghost?... Sir"_

" _Yes it would appear so" he replied with no inflexion whatsoever. "Seemingly I fell asleep in front of the staffroom fire last night and well when I woke up this morning and got out of the chair I left my body behind."_

 _He made a little chuckle, a sound Minerva had longed to hear from him, for so long, and yet now she heard it the sound scratched at her throat. It made her stomach feel like it was contracting violently, she stifled a gasp as her eyes watered and she tried not to double over._

" _Anyway," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand "we should continue, discussion like this are most irregular."_

 _With that, he carried on speaking until the end of his allotted fifty minutes, but when the class was over Minerva didn't pack away her things in a rush, she sat as all of those around her fled in a cloud of boisterous, happy noise. She sat for what felt like forever until he looked up at her, it was cruel how she could still see so much in his eyes even though they weren't really there. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out, when he took a step towards her, she made a sound, an incoherent sound, a wounded sound._

" _Miss McGonagall," he muttered "is everything alright?"_

 _She swallowed against the rough feeling in her throat and stood onto her shaky legs, determined to ignore the way her knees knocked. "I am... fine… Professor" she muttered finally and with arms like lead she swept the parchment that littered her desk into her bag with none of her usual organisation, she would sort it out later. For once the paper was blank._

 _He nodded once, a tiny movement and she turned to leave, to get someplace else, anywhere else._

" _Miss McGonagall" he called when she was a couple of steps from the door "good luck in your future."_

 _Her shoulders sagged, what future?_

* * *

Moment of indecision past, Minerva pushed against the door into the glowing warmth of the staff room, she was greeted warmly by her former teachers and introduced to a few new faces. Dumbledore welcomed her enthusiastically, 'no one better' he said, 'I'm sure you'll love it here'.

When she had made it once around the room Minerva allowed her eyes to search for him, and there he was, sat in front of the fire, the one that had probably seen to his death. There was no real expression on his face as he read the book in front of him, he didn't come over to say hello or smile at her in welcome. She wasn't surprised. She wasn't even saddened, in fact, Minerva hoped that with the reticence he had shown during life seemingly increasing now he was… _a ghost_ , she would able to get used to it, his presence and move past it. She accepted a cup of tea and an invitation to sit at the other end of the room.

* * *

Her avoidance worked, after a fashion, things became routine, she began to immerse herself once again in the simple joys of the castle. That was until term started. Busy as she was she couldn't resist the draw to go back to his classroom, to sit and take in one of his unrelenting speeches.

 _What harm could it do?_

By the end of the first term she had joined one class a week, sitting against the back wall and watching him intently. Silenced and disillusioned for necessity so that the students didn't notice the gently falling tears that become wracking sobs by the end of the hour. She fancied that she saw his eyes fall on her a few times but she swiftly discounted it.

The visits tailed off as her teaching career continued, falling away until she barely made a visit a term, then one a year.

* * *

It was ten years before she found out, stumbled across the information in the back of a dusty old book she was relocating in the library. Written there in plain language, something she had never bothered to consider;

' _Concealment spells, useful as they may be are not infallible. One can train themselves to become aware of their use. A further failing and one without complete explanation is that no variant of the magic involved has ever had any effect on any classification of the undead i.e. vampires or ghosts'._


	12. Side B: Track 2

**SIDE B- TRACK 2**

 **The Smiths -** **There's a Light and it Never Goes Out**

 _Hermione Granger / Justin Finch-Fletchley / Colin Creevey / Dennis Creevey_

* * *

 _And if a double-decker bus_

 _Crashes into us_

 _To die by your side_

 _Is such a heavenly way to die_

 _And if a ten ton truck_

 _Kills the both of us_

 _To die by your side_

 _Well the pleasure, the privilege is mine_

 _/_

 _Oh, there is a light and it never goes out_

 _There is a light and it never goes out_

 _There is a light and it never goes out_

 _There is a light and it never goes out_

 _There is a light and it never goes out_

 _There is a light and it never goes out_

 _There is a light and it never goes out_

 _There is a light and it never goes out_

* * *

Explosions rang out every few seconds, the roaring, layered sounds seemed to shake the walls, disturbing the very structure of the room. The rumbling aftermath causing cascades of grey, debris-filled smoke to crash down on their heads. Hermione reactively closed her eyes each and every time. She should be used to the unexpected by now, she thought despairingly, and yet she had never learnt to fully control her shudders or her gasps. Previously she had been perversely proud of her emotional behaviour, believing it showed that despite the horrors she had lived through she still had her humanity. It was of no use to her now.

Tears had finally started falling a few moments before, Hermione no longer had the will to stop them, there didn't seem to be a point anymore. It had all gone _so wrong_. Harry wasn't supposed to die. They had worked too long, and too hard for it to have ended like that. When Harry, her friend, _her brother_ , had walked into the forest she had _begged_ to go with him, but he had been determined, like everything else he had wanted to do it by himself. That was the one time she didn't fight him, _much_ , she gave in to his demands all the while knowing it was the wrong thing to do.

Then his body had been brought back. That was all. Just his body. No trace of the energetic boy, with permanently messy hair, dry sense of humour and forever up to his eyes in trouble. He was gone. For the first time in her short life, Hermione failed to comprehend something. She looked at him, cradled in Hagrid's arms, and turned to Ron her brow pinched in confusion. Even her friend's mournful look hadn't snapped her out of her fog. It took a long time to process the swathes of black in front of her; the Death Eater army stood menacingly facing them. Harry wasn't there to stand in front of them anymore; there was no one to gather behind, no one to slip his hand silently into hers and squeeze. There was no comforting gesture to let her know it would all be alright. Because it wouldn't, not now.

When the Dark Lord began taunting them she felt her heart constrict; her lungs fail in their job of sending oxygen around her body. There had been hope before but not now, not now his smirking lips had parted to share the fruits of _his_ last year. It had never occurred to Hermione that Voldemort might have worked out what they were doing, their secret mission had been just that, _a well-guarded secret_. Even the Order hadn't known. Hermione had assumed _he_ would think that they had gone into hiding. She shouldn't have underestimated a man that had come back from the dead. They had been so tied up in their battle against starvation that when they faced the revelation that six had become seven they had no idea how out of date their information was.

While they had been scampering around the country the Dark Lord had learnt his lesson, he had been making more horcruxes, all of which he assured them cruelly would never be found. Most people looked on at him blankly, but his gaze had fixed on Hermione enough times during his speech that she was convinced he knew of her involvement. She wondered what the punishment was for a mudblood that had tried to destroy his soul. Somehow she didn't think that death was going to seem like such a bad thing in a few hours time. Death was where Harry was; death was safe.

A hand tucked into hers and for a moment, with her closed eyes, she thought it was Harry, a tiny blissful interlude that shattered as soon as the acrid smell of spellfire resonated, she opened her eyes and looked into the face of Colin Creevey; it was so strange to see him not smiling.

* * *

Colin looked at Hermione Granger and fought to keep the fear he felt from reflecting on his face. Her sadness was _so heavy_ it was adding weight to the air around him, the depth of her feeling pushing him further onto the ground. He had been standing near her when Harry had been brought back; he had watched as the steely resolve that she had displayed since childhood; set jaw, thinning lips, evaporated. Colin had stood motionless as the realisation of what she was looking at hit her, Hermione did not fall to the floor, scream or cry but she fissured, and the cracks were deep. That's when he knew it was over. He had looked up to Harry his whole life, but Hermione had been the one he had tried to emulate. She always had the answer, a retort, a plan. Her silence on the field of battle, it was the loudest sound he heard that day.

But the suffering hadn't been over; _cracks could heal_ he told himself desperately, but when Neville was taken down she was no longer cracked she had been cleaved wide open. Colin wished he could have unseen that, more so than anything else he had witnessed in that year of terrors. Neville, the _bravest_ of them all had beheaded the snake, but the buoyancy gained from his act was stripped away only seconds later when he met the same fate. Hermione had broken then, babbling words barely audible and ringing her hands in front of herself until her jagged nails left trails of blood across her palms.

He pulled Hermione towards him, wrapping his arm around her as she shook, discarding the camera that had been in his grasp in the process, and setting it down on the dusty floor. As she left wet trails on his neck, he looked down at the reflective glass on the shutter of his dad's old camera. He had been so proud to be given it when he joined school; muggles couldn't come to the campus, and his father had asked him to take pictures, so he and his mother could see when he got home. Colin, at eleven, had nodded solemnly as if this had been a gravely serious task. It was one that he had undertaken with gusto. When he had come home that first Christmas with more pictures of people he had met than the school itself he had expected his parents to be upset, but they weren't, his dad had beamed, and his mum's voice had gone a little thick for reasons he couldn't understand at the time. He had still kept the camera with him until Dennis started at Hogwarts and feeling that it was the right thing to do he passed it over to him. Doing so as seriously as his dad had when he was first given the treasure.

"This is not _just_ a camera" he had said to his younger brother.

"No?" Dennis had said while looking up at the camera with awe, his fingers reaching out to touch it.

It was a talisman, not that he would have said that at the time, it was his reminder of the simple joy of his beginnings of life in the magical world. The bridging point that allowed him to cross between his two existences. He wouldn't need it now. Nothing good was going to happen from here.

He had almost died. _He had almost died_. Despite the repugnance of the last year, despite everything he had seen, it still felt ridiculous, _they were children_ this wasn't supposed to happen. He felt the trembling of the girl in his arms slow, and he looked down at her. Colin remembered waking up next to Hermione, in the Hospital wing, years before, at a point in his life that seemed so far away now. He pictured how she had jumped straight from the bed as soon as her body had responded to her mind's commands, headless of Madam Pomfrey's protests, how she had raced over to her friends, checking them over as if she hadn't been the one in bed for weeks.

Crashes sounded in the corridor outside of the little room, and Colin's head fell back against the wall. They were getting closer, he mused. There wasn't much more time.

When Neville's body had crashed to the floor, a deathly silence fell over the battlefield. Voldemort had raised a brow, almost daring the other side to send another _soldier_ forward. No one moved. Everything after that had moved at twice the previous pace. The Death Eaters had fought with renewed vigour, victory within their grasp now, Colin thought he saw some people fall, he didn't have time to check properly.

He would see this out. He would be as brave as possible for all of them. He nodded his head and set his jaw turning to face his little brother; he wouldn't let him see his fear.

* * *

Dennis saw his brother nod, resolve creeping into his eyes and tried to follow his example like he always did. He wasn't wholly successful, but he did manage to suppress the trembling of his lip. Colin reached out and placed an arm on his shoulder; Dennis felt himself relax a fraction under its weight, taking strength from his big brother's presence even if he had no reassurance to give.

Dennis had never had his brother's confidence, though he made a good show of it. Whereas Colin had thrown himself into everything with passion and vitality, he had never been totally sure he was made for this world. Not that he would have turned it down, the whole Creevey family had been overjoyed when Colin received his letter, and then almost struck mute in awe when he got his. Dennis had been beyond excited. He knew it wasn't always the case in muggle families that all the children would have magic, he had fervently wished it but had been trying to prepare himself for the worst, just in case. He wouldn't let his brother feel bad if he had to attend a regular school. Then the owl with that seal, the seal that when he closed his eyes at night, he allowed himself to imagine had arrived. The very idea that he would be able to follow his beloved brother to the magical castle was too good to be true.

Then he had attended and learnt all the things that Colin never mentioned in his stories or showed in his pictures. Children called him names, pushed him in the corridors, sneered at him. At the end of that first year, Cedric Diggory had died. Kind, popular Cedric, who for the students at Hogwarts had almost been a celebrity, was tossed aside as a 'spare'. It was a cruel realisation to find that to the world outside the school, nothing mattered, not their age, not their warmth, not that they tried, none of it.

Dennis had joined Dumbledore's Army in his second year and broke his first school rule to sneak into Hogsmeade and attend the clandestine meeting in the Hog's Head. It had all seemed like something of a grand adventure; a tale almost lifted from one of his children's books; secret meetings, code names all that stuff. When he got to the first session and was handed his coin it was like getting his letter all over again, though this time he had _earnt_ his inclusion, had worked for it. The noises in the corridors stopped affecting him as much then when they said unkind things he would feel for the comforting disc in his pocket and remind himself that he belonged, that he mattered, that he made a difference.

Dennis had joined in with the older children even though he wasn't supposed to and had loved every minute of it. Those same friends, those that he had stood with him, in defiance against the tyranny of The Ministry had been the ones he had seen fall before Voldemort and his forces. Those students that had seemed like giants to him, as he stood before them, small for his age and overeager, those children that had appeared like the truest of soldiers, the dark forces pushed them aside as if they were no more than blades of grass.

He was no match for what was coming, and somehow despite the fact that his dad was a milkman, a man who had never hurt a fly, a man who had no idea of the dangers in the worlds his son occupied, somehow it was still his fight. Dennis thought of his parents, their smiling faces as his mum hugged him tightly, telling him how 'she had always known her boys were special'. _How would they react to knowing they were both gone?_

A sudden silence made the occupants of the room still, terrifying as the explosions were Dennis knew enough to recognise that the sound stopping didn't bode well for them. In the last silence, the last one that had fallen across the courtyard Voldemort had addressed them all, given them option to change sides or be killed. Though that option wasn't for the muggleborns amongst them, there would be no place for them.

Dennis had battled his way to his brother's side, dragging him from the fray to attempt to make it back to the ruins of the room of requirement, despite obvious damage it still opened for them, whether the magic manifested itself through their desperation he would never know.

When they had got inside, into a room that was the size of a large broom cupboard, there were only four of them. All of the other _impure_ children had gone, trampled into the dirt where the whispering had always told him they belonged. They warded the door shut as best they could and fell to the floor. Justin Finch-Fletchley was _covered_ in blood and held a scattered looking Hermione under one arm.

"She just stood there," he said, his typical exasperated tone did little to cover the fear reverberating in the back of his voice.

There was nothing they could do now. The danger was on the other side of the door, and there was no other way out.

* * *

Justin did what he could to clean the blood from his hands, through his fingers shook as he conjured the water to do so. He wasn't sure why it mattered, their captors weren't going to care, in fact, they might even be so disgusted at the _filth_ covering his hands that they won't touch him, he scoffed. The simple fact was that the blood was sticky and he had been raised not to make a mess. While he could agree that it was of little importance given the danger they were in, he had been raised a certain way. In this world where he was branded as _wrong and unnatural_ because of who his parents were, upholding their teachings seemed like a final small act of defiance, the only thing he had left in his arsenal.

Justin looked back at Hermione and swallowed the bile back down in his throat. She hadn't moved when the fighting started; her eyes remained flickering between Neville and Harry while wands were drawn all around her. He wondered how many people knew Neville and the golden girl was more than friends; he imagined very few; she didn't even know that he knew. Justin had stumbled across them one night, kissing by the greenhouses, Neville's fingers leaving soil tainted trails across her flushed cheeks. His first thought had been to draw attention to himself, mock them, or simply steal into the night with plans to tell everyone tomorrow. That all changed when they broke apart, when he saw the tears clinging to both their eyelashes, there was more to their secrecy than he had originally thought.

When he saw her motionless he intended leaving her there, though that was mainly the fear talking, one muggleborn target was bad enough; two was asking for trouble. In the end, he tucked her under his arm and made it back to the castle. He needed to get inside; battling would be easier if he could at least get a wall to his back, hopefully by then she would have come to. He could do with her fabled prowess now.

Justin pushed his head back against the dark wood, how he had hated her when he first joined here. He had come to Hogwarts fully prepared to be welcomed with open arms, to be as easily recognised as belonging to the elite as he was at home. Children are more susceptible to these things than parents image, the cut of clothes, the crispness of accents the hints about home life; they arranged themselves in groups of equal social standing. He came from a wealthy family, with money, connections and taste; he was destined to be desired, revered and maybe even slightly feared. Only when he introduced himself, smugly, it was to find that no one cared. None of it mattered, the rules of the game were the same here, but his _dirty blood_ counted him out of playing.

And then there was Hermione Granger. In his world she would have been a nobody, here she was less than that, as insignificant as he was and yet it didn't bother her. She got the best grades; she walked around like she owned the place and wore her muggle born status like a crown upon her head. People barely remembered his name, those that did didn't think well of him. Her, though they sneered and pushed her around they talked of her constantly, she wasn't the students darling, but she had their respect, albeit they would never have admitted it. He _hated_ her. He thought he hated her.

And then the last year had happened, the year of blood and pain. He had learnt what hate was then when it was directed at him, when he felt it for others. But he hadn't left, he had thought about it, oh god he had thought about it, but he never left. For better or worse this was his home. Running would only have meant living his life in fear, there were no more options now.

The silence was broken by a spine-tingling sound, the ram of something large against the door reverberated around the small place, and unconsciously they all shifted together. He wondered if it would be quick? He imagined not. When the noise pounded against the door again he sucked in a breath; he had heard a crack; he was sure of it; the telltale sound should have rendered him immobile, and yet it didn't, it lit what was left of his fire.

"Get up!" he called, scrambling to his feet to find three sets of eyes following him blankly. "We go out fighting, I will not sit on this floor cowering like a beaten animal, not like the filthy creature they think I am" his vision became watery, but he set his jaw, _determined_. He was right, they all knew it.

Hermione got to her feet first, her legs slightly unresponsive but she gripped her wand tightly and took up position by the door. The Creevey brothers followed suit and soon they were all stood awaiting their fate.

"I would just like to say" Granger began and Justin coughed through the tightening in his throat "that whatever happens from here… I…"

Whatever she was going to say was cut off by another large bang followed by the sound of splintering wood. He reached his hand out next to him to grip Dennis by the shoulder and widened his stance, raising his arm offensively, _preparing_. If this was how it was to end, he would do it surrounded by those who had suffered the same fate, the children of the insignificant; it would be on their terms.


	13. Side B: Track 3

_A/N thanks to the amazing_ _ **itisariddle**_ _who asked for this song (her theme for Sevmione), and a scene that features fire. Hope you like._

* * *

 **SIDE B - TRACK 3**

 **Ilse De Lange - I'm Not So Tough**

 _Hermione Granger x Severus Snape_

* * *

 _I know that you've been hurt before_

 _Well, so have I, what can you do_

 _That doesn't mean you close the door_

 _So stop blaming' me, I don't blame you_

 _I'm not some ghost from your past_

 _The one who tore your heart in half_

 _I'm not her, it's not my fault you're holding on to that_

* * *

Severus sat on the cold dirt where grass had never grown, watching relatively controlled flames dance across the crumbling remains of his childhood home. Felix Mulciber had waxed lyrical about the comforting nature of fire, Severus had written off his prolonged speeches as nothing more than the troubling ramblings of the dangerously unhinged but now, sat in the middle of the afternoon cloaked in more notice me not charms than he would have thought possible to cast, he thought he might have understood. A more disconcerting thought he had not had for years.

Still, he sat on the desolate ground, looking up despite the heat irritating his eyes as Spinner's End burnt to the ground.

The idea had always been to sell it; Merlin knew he needed the money, but then that had derailed like everything else he had attempted since he had survived Nagini's venom.

Severus hadn't expected to be there, having had no desire to meet with people, but the witless agent had contacted him, had brought the wrong keys to the property, the dolt. The thin man in the cheap suit wouldn't listen to his surly insistence that he should just break in, 'wouldn't send the right message' he had said. Reluctantly, Severus had shown up. Drifted past the young couple that were waiting and made it through opening the door with barely a grunt turning to leave before he was blocked by a bump against his knees.

When he looked down, scowl in full force, he saw a little boy, a little boy with wide eyes, a jumper too big for him and a mass of black hair. For a moment he thought the clawing at his throat indicated some of his stitches had come loose, but his inquiring fingers came back clean. He marched from the property without another word, but he sent a letter to the agent informing him that it was no longer for sale, despite feeling slightly sick at his show of softness. The idea of another child living in that house, now that he had seen him, it was unconscionable.

That was how Hermione found him staring into the flames that had by now had destroyed the top floor as he worked his way through his second pack of cigarettes. She didn't say anything, _mercifully_ , just collapsed down next to him and sat at his side.

He didn't bother asking how she found him; the girl had been a consistent nuisance since the war, showing up all the time with brightness and too many questions that as far as he could tell were genuine and kindly meant. For a lifetime spy, the ease in which she infiltrated his life was disconcerting. He hated her for it in a small way. Yet when the sky turned darker, and she rested her head on his shoulder he didn't flinch, nor did he hesitate to remove the outer layer of his clothing as he felt a tremor move through her, placing his cloak around her small shoulders delicately, so as not to disturb her too much. When he was sure that her gaze was averted he looked down. Her eyes were in fact closed and her mouth slightly open, light falling across her face and highlighting her cheeks, looking just like she had that morning.

Waking up in bed next to Hermione Granger had never been part of the plan, not that he had a plan for this. Severus was very much aware that he was supposed to be dead and beyond that sex had seemed so surplus to requirements for such a long time he hadn't even missed it. Well, till he had it, he was pretty sure he would miss it again now. Should it be taken away.

 _But she was here wasn't she?_ He supposed he should say something, apologies for his dawn flee at least, but what could he say? 'I'm sorry, but when I woke up and found myself in bed with you, the first person I have let my guard down with in over twenty years I had a panic attack'. _I'm sure that would go down swimmingly._

As the last of the embers burnt out she fidgeted, "Is it done?" she asked, stretching up to rotate her shoulders.

"It's done," he answered slowly.

"Okay," she called as she stood from the hard ground, rubbing one of her delicate hands over her eyes. He knew what those hands felt like, they burned as well as soothed. When she righted herself properly she held one of them out, her fingers stretching towards him and he stared at it. "Are you coming?" Her words were casual, but he could hear the quiet hurt in her tone, he closed his eyes against the guilt that crept into his pores. He felt more than heard her hand drop.

She shifted on her feet a little before she walked away just another one of those little ways that her physicality betrayed how she was feeling. He had scolded her for it at the start, mocked her inability to keep her thoughts private. At some point, he had begun to find it reassuring. He'd known for twenty minutes that she was going to try before she kissed him, he was grateful for the warning when her lips landed on his; it gave him time to quell his reaction.

On her third step, he stood himself, his legs acting almost without his mind's consent and panic made him call for her. "Hermione." There was desperation in his tone, but no one would have picked up on it.

"Yes," she answered thickly as she turned back around to face him. Her eyes were a little wet, and he bit the inside of his cheek. Severus had always been good with words, the particular way to twist a sentence to get the best marks, the structure of a compliment to give the greatest illusion of deference, what to say to hurt, all of those things came as naturally to him as breathing, until it mattered. As soon as someone else was relying on his words, hanging on to the sentences he would share as if they mattered they would never work. It was like writing an essay with someone else's notes, singing with the wrong music playing. All attempts had led to disastrous results.

Instead, he reached forward and gripped her hand. It was her turn to stare silently as the fingers that were now loosely entwined. Eventually, he felt the minutest of tugs, and she began walking towards the apparition point in silence again.

Somehow it had been enough.


	14. Side B: Track 4

_A/N thank you to wonderful nauticalparamour who requested this song and a Hermione centric story with one of the younger Slytherins hope you like :)_

* * *

 **SIDE B - TRACK 4**

 **The Broods - Are you Home?**

 _Hermione Granger x Marcus Flint_

* * *

 _When she calls, tell me truth_

 _Tell me truth, tell me truth_

 _Is it more than I knew?_

 _I knew_

 _/_

 _So are you home tonight?_

 _Are you alone tonight?_

 _I've been drinking and I'm thinking, that I don't wanna fight_

 _Are you home tonight?_

 _Are you alone tonight?_

 _You've been drinking and I'm thinking_

 _Are we sinking?_

 _Yeah, I just wanna fight_

 _I just wanna fight_

* * *

Hermione was sitting at the dresser in her bedroom when the phone rang, she was more than grateful for the distraction having spent the last half an hour trying in vain to perform a charm Mrs Weasley had given her to manage her hair, she was losing the battle. As she jumped from the chair at the insistent ring, she had to navigate the scattered objects all over the thick carpet. Despite being obsessively organised in most areas of her life, the same meticulousness did not carry into her home. It took a few moments to locate the demanding noise, eventually finding the phone under a jumper she had carelessly discarded the day before.

"You're never going to guess what happened to me last night." Ginny's voice hailed through after she clicked accept. Hermione rolled her eyes at the wicked excitement in her friend's voice. Ginny had been on something of a mission since her break up with Harry, not that Hermione judged her, her friend had poured herself into that relationship for nearly three years, and now it was over Ginny just wanted to have fun. She was happier than ever, they both were, that was all Hermione cared about.

"Well, Lavender and I went out, and you will never believe who we saw!" Ginny continued without waiting for Hermione's prompt. Hermione smiled at her eagerness, happy with herself that there was almost no reaction to the other girls name now. Her friends blossoming friendship with Lavender had concerned Hermione at first, it was no secret that she had never gotten on with the blonde at school. But while Ginny and Harry had been together so were Lavender and Ron and the four were thrown together a lot. Now both single they continued to spend time together. Hermione could concede that Lavender had grown up, at least a little.

"Who?" She asked absentmindedly as she twirled the phone cord around her fingers, plonking herself back in front of the dressing table and balancing her feet on the edge.

"Marcus Flint!" Ginny cried, with the tone of someone who had just put down a full house during a tense poker match. "Bet you would never have guessed that would you?"

Hermione's throat closed up, and she shut her eyes, grateful beyond belief that this conversation was happening over the phone. "Really?" she forced out, "how funny that you should run into him."

Ginny was too excited to acknowledge or even register the way Hermione's words fell out of her mouth like leaden pellets.

"You know what it was like when we were at school, looked at us like we were something under his boot. Well, not anymore!"

"Not anymore" Hermione parroted back apathetically. She clutched the phone in a death grip as a fur like feeling seemed to coat tongue, her fingers twitched as she debated her next step. Arguing with herself was futile, she knew she would have to ask. "What…" she coughed, "what happened?"

"Well, by the time I'd seen him I'd had a few drinks you see, and I marched over there to set him straight. We'd had more than one run in on the Quidditch pitch at school, and we are down to play in the league next year, and I thought it was time to settle an old score. So I went over there, eyes blazing, then he offers to buy me a drink, totally took me by surprise…"

Hermione stopped listening, no, that wasn't entirely accurate, she heard the words, but she had finished processing. It was like being on a rollercoaster when you know you're afraid, and you've been brave the whole way around the ridiculously long queue, and suddenly you're strapped in, and the little cart is chugging all the way to the top of this ridiculous peak and you're sure you are going to die and then… the track seems to fall away, and you brace yourself begging it to stop but knowing you have to see it out until the end of the rotation.

Once Ginny made it to the part where they got back to her flat Hermione's fingers were trembling too hard to hold the phone without rattling it, so she rested it against her collar as she stared up at the ceiling trying to control her breathing.

"That's great Gin" she managed to say mechanically as her friend finished speaking. She bit her lip, "will you... err... do you think you will see him again?"

"Not sure, no firm plans anyway," Ginny answered absentmindedly as if she had not thought of the possibility herself. Hermione nodded, not that she could be seen, she had gone way past the point of being coherent. "Anyway," Ginny called excitedly, "I better go."

Hermione heard the call click off and she laid the phone in the middle of her crossed legs, staring at it like an unidentified bag in a train station. Hermione had got with Marcus a year before, not that anyone knew. They had to keep it secret he had said, a position that he had never moved from. When they talked they agreed that their friends wouldn't understand, he said he had no interest in answering to the _Chosen One_ , said that was all it was, and like a fool she had believed him.

It had started out casual, meeting every few weeks when he was back from tours, going out for dirty martini's in muggle hotels and leaving dirty sheets in the morning. It wasn't long before it changed, he started coming back more often, turning up in the middle of trips, staying at her place, inviting her to come to his. Making places for each other in their lives, so she had thought. Hermione had never felt like that about anyone before. Ron and Harry were her two closest male friends, and they were the classic Gryffindors, what you saw was what you got. Marcus was so different, she could have been cliched and said he had 'layers', but he didn't, not really, it was more cut and dry than that. He had a public persona, a smirking, scowling brute on the Quidditch pitch, a man that had grown into his appearance that excluded an 'I don't give a fuck about you attitude' at all times. Then he had the person he was underneath, not some gooey sentimental but a slightly softer, goofier man that like all of them had been forced to grow up to young and had a secret passion for sugary cereal and muggle cartoons.

It felt nice finding out what he was like behind the wall he created; he laughed a lot when they were on their own. Not full belly laughs, given over to abandon, but little choking ones that sounded like she had wrenched the noise from his throat against his will.

He felt like hers when he was like that, stripped to the waist in some tatty sweats reenacting some Quidditch move as he knew how his casual references to broken bones made her wince. She felt like his, how he picked her up if she had fallen asleep somewhere and tucked her into bed with him, whispering how he wished she would come on tour with him when he thought she couldn't here.

And that's why she had ignored the first call.

And the second.

Even the third time when it was pushed into her face during dinner at the Burrow. She had sat motionless as Ron recounted a fairly explicit story of walking on Marcus and Parvati at one of the end of season parties, all while Molly's back was turned, of course.

She had said nothing.

But this was different; Ginny was her best friend. She wanted so much to ignore it but she just… she couldn't.

She picked up the phone, staring at it for a moment and taking a huge inhale.

It answered on the first ring. "So are you home tonight?"

* * *

His fingers trailed along her arm as she moved inside his elegantly decorated flat, it was exactly like him, all too big furniture and clean lines till you moved into the bedroom, there was colour there and soft plush furnishings, that room was for comfort not display. In none of the stories had she heard of someone being taken back to _his_ flat. It didn't mean it hadn't happened of course, but she took some comfort from that, no matter how pathetic it made her feel.

She walked around him, pushing down her feelings as she brushed against his side. Marcus turned to close the door, dressed casually he still looked breathtaking, and she averted her eyes. She hadn't bothered to put any makeup on or do her hair. She had thought about it, thought about doing a turn as one of those old school movie sirens, charging in dressing to the nines and making him regret the day he lost her.

It was a nice thought, something for the future maybe. But considering she had been sweeping up shards of her broken heart under the carpet for weeks Hermione was a bit beyond lipstick and a one liner.

Instead, she had jumped up as soon as their brief call ended picking up a pair of shoes and pausing for just two seconds before scooping up the discarded jumper and putting it on. _His jumper_ , she realised when she got to the apparition point. Hermione wasn't sure if she had done that one purpose, maybe her subconscious had wanted to give him some reminder that there was something between them or maybe it was because it gave her a twisted sort of comfort.

"I need to speak to you," she said, entirely pointlessly as she had said as much on the phone.

Marcus looked at her openly, no hint of worry on his face. "Drink?" he asked moving towards the kitchen, but she didn't give him an answer, couldn't, if she let herself derail even slightly she would give in, try to pretend again.

"Anything you want to tell me?" She asked bravely, making herself stand with her back straight and her shoulders back, even though she fiddled with the collar of the jumper.

He stopped then, and when he turned back he looked neutral, but she could see how his shoulders had stiffened. It was enough to feel like she had got him on the ropes. She stepped forward, further invading his personal space; he completely towered over her, but at this moment she knew she was more intimidating despite her size. He didn't move back, but he crossed his arms over his torso and her eyes narrowed. Guilty her mind screamed.

"What are you talking about?" He tried, and she snorted. "Have you been drinking?"

"Ginny," she whispered, and he stopped dead, the rest of his words evaporating on his tongue.

"Hermione... I…"

"Ginny, Cho and Parvati," she said. "And those are just the ones I know about."

Impressed her voice had managed to stay so calm she pulled off the jumper she was wearing, trying to ignore what the static would have done to her hair and handed it back. His fingers reached forward to grip hers, but she pulled away.

When she had been on the way over she had thought about this moment, thought about all the things she wanted to scream at him. But now she was there she felt sore like her entire being was bruised.

She didn't want to fight.

They stood in silence for a time, and Hermione wanted to leave, flee and never look back but for the same reason she had held her phone to her ear the entire way through the stories of his infidelities she stood in front of him and worked up the courage to ask what she needed to. She knew herself; she may not want to know, but she would need to be able to close the chapter, to be able to forget him.

"Why?" she said eventually, and his huge sigh made her wish they were sitting down.

He didn't look at her when he started speaking; his eyes fixed on the jumper she had pushed at him. "It… I like you Hermione, a lot, probably more than I have ever liked anyone, you fit with me, we just fit. But…"

"But?" she prompted, praying to Merlin over and over in her head, she would do almost anything to get through this dry-eyed.

"But," he said, rubbing one large hand against his stubbly jaw. "I like being wanted too, I thought it would go away, and for a little while it did but when it came back I just… I just... well I caved."

Hermione nodded, "I thought it would be something like that, honestly I have imagined all kinds of ridiculous situations, but I think I knew it was just something like that."

Marcus didn't respond; he looked fixedly at a point somewhere over her head, and Hermione nervously rubbed at her wrist.

When his words settled in she felt some resolve, the banality of his excuse spurring her into a quiet action. Sure there would be days to come when she would want to confine herself to bed, cry that she simply hadn't been enough, but somehow she also knew that she would come out of the other side.

It wasn't meant to be.

"Goodbye Marcus," she said falteringly before charging towards the door and letting herself out.

He didn't follow.


	15. Side B: Track 5

_A/N This one is a return to the Pictures of You AU, specifically a mention made in the epilogue that the girls were going to have a night out with a friend of Fleur's that had just broken up with her wizard._

* * *

 **SIDE B - TRACK 5**

Pictures of You Universe [Antonin Dolohov x Hermione Granger]

* * *

If you like Piña Coladas, getting caught in the rain  
If you're not into yoga, if you have half a brain  
If you like making love at midnight in the dunes on the cape  
I'm the love that you've looked for write to me and escape

Rupert Holmes - Escape (The Piña Colada Song) [1979]

* * *

Antonin sighed heavily as they reached the apparition point, pausing to drop his bag to the floor, and leaning against the wall. As the rest of his party shuffled up behind him, he narrowed his eyes at the group in front of them, silently urging them to get on with it. He knew he should feel bad about cutting their 'boys trip' short, but he couldn't. It wasn't that it hadn't been enjoyable, he certainly hadn't missed the disapproving gazes of the general public, and the biking had been fun. But the truth was, ever since Luna had intentionally dropped the bombshell that herself and Hermione were going on a 'girls night out' in Muggle London he had been on edge. He would have felt worse about his flair of possessiveness if it wasn't entirely clear Rabastan was in the same boat. The younger of the Lestrange brothers had been surlier than ever over the last twenty-four hours, and even Yax had stopped prodding him over what his wife might get up to, for fear of being pushed off the mountainside, as he had been threatened, twice.

Antonin abhorred the thought of his wife out, unwittingly his mind supplied an overlaying image of men all over her, but it was more than just his considerable jealousy bothering him. Since the war and her very public campaign to get them out of prison, her social circle had diminished markedly. There were still a lot of people that refused to acknowledge her, another group that wished her harm; she didn't go out much anymore. The world wasn't always a safe place. When he had been wasting away in Azkaban, the knowledge that he was unable to protect her from the tarnish of their association had repeatedly tapped on the taught string that was his sanity. He had sworn to himself that once he had gotten out, he would never go through the same thing again.

Antonin had suggested that just the pair of agitated husbands make their way back to London a day early, but when he had begun packing everyone announced their intention to come along. Yax said it was so he had a 'front row seat' when Hermione 'lost her mind,' but Antonin didn't entirely believe it. His friend, despite his almost constant piss taking, was as close to the girls as anyone, Antonin knew he was no happier than he was about them being out, without anyone in the country, should they be needed. Severus had sighed and complained, calling them thick headed and reminding them of the witch's ability to look after themselves, and yet he packed his things along with the rest of them.

So it was five bad tempered wizards that arrived at the apparition point, bags in tow, ready to get back home and go out into town.

* * *

After hastily dropping their stuff back at their respective homes the group arrived at the first location, the bar that Hermione had told him, albeit reluctantly, that they would be starting their night in. It had been a long time since Antonin had been in a drinking establishment like the one they found, the pounding music and writhing bodies on the dancefloor were like nails across a chalkboard to his already frayed nerves.

With the five of them separating it didn't take long to establish that the girls were no longer there, and registering the series of head shakes from his party Antonin headed to the bar to see what he could gain from the barman. He wasn't stupid, a group of young women that looked like they did were going to be noticed. He started off his questions politely, well, as polite as he ever was, though the barman seemed reluctant to give them any information. When he heard the fourth vague answer, Antonin considered being a little less friendly but was saved the job by Rabastan, who jumped up and cleared the bar like a hurdle in one smooth movement. The fast act silencing the air around them for a moment and suddenly the man in front of him was a lot more helpful. They hadn't even needed to resort to magic.

By the time they hit the third bar Antonin was losing the tenuous grip, he had on his patience. When he described his wife to the last bartender, and the man's face suddenly became wistful, he felt his fists clench. As the boy recounted what she had been wearing with a subtle leer Antonin had to push himself to remember the threat of Azkaban not to throw the Muggle back into the glass shelving behind him. Settling instead to punch the bar surface he headed for the door; he needed to stand outside for a moment to calm himself before they went to the last place. A rough hand gripped his shoulder, and he looked up into Dolph's face. "She's going to be okay Antonin, you know she would have contacted one of us if something was wrong."

He nodded once, not admitting that he knew that already, her safety, for once, was not at the forefront of his mind. Considering the smirk on Reuben's face, his friend knew exactly why he was feeling murderous. Yaxley hung back to walk alongside him as they continued. "Leather skirt?" he teased, "naughty girl."

Antonin huffed, rubbing his hand over his eyes. "Fuck, I need to find her, then get a drink."

Reuben laughed, shaking his shoulder, "Come on old man, I'm going to need you with it when we get in there, Rab's about to blow his top. Did you hear that feckless kid ask about the one that wasn't wearing a bra? Said she looked like a water nymph, well, that only really describes one person doesn't it?"

When they walked into the last bar, O'Malley's, Antonin knew she was there; he could sense her. It was grimier than the last place; it seemed their night out had followed the pattern of most, environment paying less and less import as the drinks caught up. The room was dark and lined with chairs, all pointing towards a small stage illuminated by a bright spotlight, almost the only light in the whole place. He couldn't think over the great din, and he looked towards the source.

"'If you like Piña Coladas, getting caught in the rain!"

Well, his wife was there, in lights.

"If you're not into yoga if you have half a brain-"

Wrapped around Luna, Fleur and another girl he didn't recognise, in a way that made it difficult to assess which one was holding the others up.

"If you like making love at midnight in the dunes on the cape."

Her makeup was smudged, and her hair was bigger than ever, a huge sloppy smile on her face as she giggled through the words.

"I'm the love that you've looked for write to me and escape."

She couldn't sing if her life depended on it, and against his better judgement Antonin couldn't help but smile at them. Not that anyone could see in the darkness, it was quite funny. He had seen his wife drunk a fair few times, not that she drank regularly, but whenever she did she was only ever a couple of glasses away from totally hammered, she had never been able to hold her booze. Part of it wasn't even her fault, she was tiny, and the stuff him and Yax kept at the manor was typically pretty potent. His eyes softened as she swayed along to the music, her hips much more able to stick to the beat than her voice was. But Hermione was far from the only one in a state of disarray. He wasn't sure he had ever seen Fleur look anything but completely put together, so to watch her dragging on a straw inside an empty cocktail glass with confusion written all over her face was hilarious. Luna was indeed braless; a fact that no one in the room was now ignorant to, given the light positioned right at the stumbling witches on the stage. He didn't look over at Rabastan though he was pretty sure he could hear the grinding of the younger man's teeth, even over the strangled noise that was coming from the girls.

Hermione twisted a little, stumbling on her heels and they nearly all toppled over like dominos. Yax came up to stand beside him, beaming wider than Antonin could remember seeing before. "I am _so_ glad we came back."

Not everyone was so enthused.

"Merlin, this is insufferable," Severus spat, "you found them, they're not in danger, they're just making fools of themselves. I'm going home."

Yaxley smiled at him, "Come on Snape, you miserable fuck, where's your sense of humour?"

Snape scowled at him, "At home, with my witch, who is no doubt up to something a bit more dignified than caterwauling in front of a group of unwashed-"

"Er, Snape," Antonin interjected.

"-cretins, who wouldn't know good music if it came up and bit them on them on the-"

"Severus!" Antonin and Yaxley snapped together, the unfamiliar use of his first name finally capturing the man's attention.

"What?"

"That your _dignified_ witch over there?" Yaxley asked, pointing over to the far corner of the room.

Following the direction of Reuben's arm, Antonin saw Astrid walking out of the bathrooms. She stood tall, straightening her back, as her hands fumbled to pull at her rather short skirt. She stumbled slightly and bumped into a table as she made her way back towards the stage, stopping to make her heartfelt apologies to the inanimate object.

"A… Astrid?" Severus whispered, staring over at the witch (who on closer inspection had a series of cocktail umbrellas in her hair) with confusion.

Antonin watched on as Astrid's re-emergence was greeted by with screams from the cluster of witches on the stage as if she had just come back from battle and not a trip to the bathroom. The singing continued, the girls oblivious to their new observers, or to anyone else in the room it seemed.

* * *

"Hermione!"

At the sudden shout, Hermione dragged her eyes away from the bright screen displaying the lyrics for Club Tropicana and looked at Luna who was tugging on her arm. "What?"

Luna smiled at her and pointed to the back of the room. Hermione's eyes followed to find their audience had increased a little since she had last properly looked. Antonin was stood in the middle his arms crossed over his torso, his expression dark. In spite of his demeanour, she was completely elated to see him; she had been missing him as the night continued and had been planning on sending a, probably fairly sloppy, owl later. She didn't think of anything else and began to walk forward, totally mindless of the fact she was on an elevated platform. So fixed on getting Antonin she didn't even notice Reuben rush forward to catch her as she walked straight off the end of the stage like a cartoon coyote.

"Easy there," he said, as he grabbed her, placing her slightly doe-like legs onto the sticky floor.

"Thank you, Reuben," she singsonged and smiled up at him.

"Yep, definitely drunk," he murmured, and she laughed.

"I'm not that bad," she assured, entirely unconvincing, as she continued to sip at her fruity drink.

"Really?" he asked with a glint in his eyes, "And just how many of those did you have before you even left the house?"

She frowned at him, "How did you know I was drinking before I left?"

"Leather skirt, little duck, not usually your style, I imagine you were talked into it around the time of your third drink," he said smugly.

She was saved from response by Antonin appearing next to her, his mouth set into a grim line. Yaxley turned her quickly, so she was facing her husband and slunk off to the bar.

"You found me," she said brightly.

"Was I supposed to be looking?" he grumped, stepping forward to wrap his arms around her middle and she instantly felt steadied.

"You were meant to be on holiday, but I knew you would come back," she replied as she buried her face against his chest breathing in her familiar scent.

He looked down at her searchingly, "Did you trick me, Hermione?"

"No, but I'm not sad to see you either."

* * *

The irritation of the evening and the memories of exuberant bar staff melted away as Hermione gazed up at him adoringly, though his expression probably told a different story. She rested back against his chest, and he gripped her back to pull her away from the now abandoned stage. Luna was sat on Rabastan lap, her back to the room, no doubt by intention, and they were fighting over drinks that she kept picking up only to have Rab banish them. Reuben was laughing at an exuberant Fleur, whose accent was even more pronounced and Severus was battling the incredibly amorous attentions of Astrid, who despite the dark man's reluctance, didn't look like she was perturbed.

"This place is not where I would have wanted you to come," Antonin chastised.

"We have a history of meeting in less than pleasant locations Antonin" she replied cheekily.

He smiled at her, a small quirk of the lips that betrayed how endearing he found her like this. He would yell at her, for hours, tomorrow, for being so drunk while out in a series of seedy bars but right now she looked so amazing, smelt so much like home, and he had missed her. Locked in his thoughts, he almost missed Hermione pulling away from him slightly to run her eyes over his form. He smirked at her, and she didn't even notice. She was never normally so, _overt,_ in her appraisal, she would still get embarrassed if he ever caught her looking when he got out of a shower or changing for bed as if his body wasn't hers. He just about managed to suppress a groan when her teeth settled into her bottom lip

"All the same, I think it might be time to go home," he said finally.

"Noooo," she replied, pulling on his fingers, "Come on let's stay, you can even sing one."

"Hermione," he said shortly.

"Please," she begged.

"Home," he commanded.

"Please please please, I would give my life savings to see all of you do a rendition of Back in Black," she giggled and dropped her hands to press against her chest as she became overcome with laughter. Antonin looked on confused as she stumbled back, nearly falling over, somehow she had lost a shoe.

He sighed and stepped forward, scooping her off the floor. He turned to announce his departure, but it seemed he had been beaten to it. Luna was over Rabastan's shoulder, her arms hanging down loosely as she sang to herself alternately whacking the backs of Rab's legs and his arse. Severus was trying to corral Astrid towards the door as she continued to press up against him like a limpet as she attacked his face. The man looked a little flushed and coughed as he walked past the others.

"Shows over," he muttered curtly.

Antonin finally got Hermione out of the bar only to find she was fast asleep as soon as the air hit her face.

"Best. Night. Ever," Yaxley pronounced as they got to the apparition point, Antonin scoffed, but as he pushed the wild, damp curls out of Hermione's face and pulled his jacket around her sleeping form, he could concede that it wasn't all bad.


	16. Side B: Track 6

_A/N Finally an update for this collection! The last three stories I have tried to write for this have ended up as multi chapters, so there has been a bit of a delay. This story came from an idea I had while writing We Found Love._

* * *

 **Side B: Track 6**

Harry Potter, [Fenrir Greyback x Hermione Granger]

* * *

Don't ask me  
What you know is true  
Don't have to tell you  
I love your precious heart

INXS - Never Tear Us Apart [1987]

* * *

Harry chanced another quick look over at Hermione and what he saw made his dirty hands clench on the tops of his knees. The sight was no different than it had been when he had last looked, but preparedness provided him with no comfort. They had been there for hours, and there was no sign of any significant improvement. Taking a deep breath Harry twisted his head again, this time to glance over a Ron, his friend had pressed himself against the wall so hard he must have been causing himself pain, not that any emotion registered on his face. Ron had kept his eyes trained on the floor since they were shown into the room as if his too long hair could mask his emotions. It was a foolhardy effort, everyone in the room knew his heart was breaking.

Another pain filled sob slashed through the quiet space; the sound dragged from the broken girl prostrate on the bed in the centre of them all. Harry felt his heart clench as he dropped his head into his hands. It wasn't supposed to have gone like this, and it was all his fault. It was his arrogance, his recklessness that had led to this moment. If he had never said the taboo they would never have been caught, if they had never been caught, they would never have been at the manor, and then they would still have been safe, or as safe as they could be at present. In any case, Hermione would never have been tortured.

To block out the suffering in front of him, and the weight of his chest, Harry focused on the events that had led them here. So much of the last few hours hadn't made any sense; he hadn't picked up on it at the time, the blood had been rushing too loudly in his ears after all of the running. His eyes darted again, but this time Harry fixated on a single strand of Hermione's messy curls, he wondered at how it looked so much darker than usual against the stark white of the pillow and told himself he wasn't avoiding her blank face. He remembered standing there in the woods with panic settling into his bone marrow, Ron had looked almost green as they stumbled over each other, both of them trying to block the other from what was coming, but Hermione, she had seemed… Harry squeezed his eyes shut trying to picture her face, _confident_ , his mind supplied eventually, and Harry realised the assessment was right. Hermione had stood with her head high and her shoulders thrown back at least until _all_ of the snatchers had arrived. Then he had noticed a change. Hermione's eyes had darted around the assembled braying men more than once, almost desperately once Scabior had started to show her a bit of interest. Harry supposed he could understand that facing seven people that only assessed the worth of your life in terms of the galleons currently placed on your head was hardly a time for calm, but there was something else. He had the strangest notion that she had been looking for _someone_ , someone that was evidently not there.

Shaking away his thoughts Harry methodically worked the flannel Fleur had given him over his fingers; it felt like a lifetime since he had touched anything as pleasantly warm as the light grey cloth. He had ignored her offer at first, determined not to take any comfort until Hermione was conscious again, but Fleur had been insistent. Harry had eventually sagged in agreement and extended his hand in acceptance. He wasn't capable of speech. His friend, the closest thing he had to family, was writhing in pain, in one of the white washed bedrooms at the back of Shell Cottage, and nothing seemed to help.

Hermione had lost consciousness almost as soon as Harry's feet had made contact with the rough sand. True to form she had held on until she was sure everyone else was safe, breathing out a raspy sigh as she regarded the clear, pale blue sky, and then nothing. It had been too close to a goodbye for Harry's sanity, the pull of her lips too near to the expression on Sirius' face as he drifted back through the deathly whispers of the veil. He knew he had screamed just as hard, but he had no idea now what he had said.

Bill had carried Hermione up the stairs, the redhead's apparent ease making Harry realise just how light she must have been now, their starvation had been so gradual he hadn't noticed it himself. They had placed her in the bed she now laid in and Fleur had done all she could, a damn sight more so than he or Ron would have been able, but nothing seemed to make any difference. After the first hour passed in nervous silence, Ron had murmured that his mother should be called, his words coming out as heavy, water clogged sobs, but Bill had wearily shaken his head, there was nothing more Mrs Weasley could have done for Hermione. Harry hadn't argued, he knew what Bill was saying was the truth, though he couldn't help but feel they could have all benefitted from her presence. Molly might not have been able to cast any _more_ charms than Fleur had, but the matriarch was simply too stubborn to allow Hermione to slip away on her watch, and that in itself was a kind of magic.

Harry cast the flannel aside and pushed himself back into the uncomfortable chair he had all but fallen into earlier. Hermione's pale face was drawn, the dark circles she had been sporting under her eyes for months looked even more prominent in the harsh sunlight streaming in from the windows. There was nothing more for any of them to do now but wait. Remus would be there soon.

There had been hesitation from all of them to call on another member of the Order, converging in significant numbers was foolhardy at this time, but they simply hadn't felt like there was any other option. Ron had looked nearly purple when Bill made the suggestion, but he had wisely kept his mouth shut. In the history of their friendship, it was the only thing Harry had ever fallen out with his friend about, he felt guilty about it, taking sides, but Hermione had enough to be getting on with, he wouldn't stand for her dealing with Ron's misplaced rage. As soon as it had been suggested Harry had been insistent that the surviving marauder was called for, Bill knew a little about those things, but not enough to be of any assistance in this case. He wouldn't allow them to run the risk of administering any more radical treatment in case they inadvertently hurt her more.

Hermione's _condition_ was yet another weight on Harry's already overburdened shoulders. It was his fault after all. There were days when it felt like everything was, like everything he touched turned rotten, especially back then. Looking back Harry chastised himself for spending too much of his young life wallowing in self-pity, it had made him complacent, always believing that _he_ would be the target. He hadn't worried enough about plots against those around him, those he relied on.

When Umbridge had sent a Dementor to attack him in the summer after the fourth year, it wasn't an end to her scheming. While the Order rushed around to get him back into the relative safety of the magical world, their soon to be teacher sent something just as dangerous after Hermione; only his friend hadn't been quick enough to fight her assailant off. That had been her despondent explanation, in any case, Harry had been quick to point out that the creature sent after him had a spell specifically designed to ensure his safety, there was no such thing for her to have employed, even if she had been able to get to her wand.

While Harry was summoned to his trial for the prohibited underage use of magic, in defence of his life or otherwise, Hermione had been hauled up in Grimmauld Place, being looked after by Remus and Sirius, coming to terms with her new way of life. The bite at her neck was only the beginning.

From that moment everything for the curly haired witch changed. Harry knew now, with the questionable gift of hindsight that himself and Ron had not reacted well. He had been too wrapped up in the attack being his fault to be of any use to her and Ron, well, they had both loved Hermione for a long time, he suspected, though it was never spoken of, that Ron had been _in_ love with her, his anger had been spectacular. They had both cared, but neither of them had focused on what it had done _to_ Hermione. She had mentioned it a few times, late at night when no one else was around, Hermione talked about how her senses were accelerated, how she was struggling with her _other self,_ the one that now lingered underneath her skin. Harry's once confident friend became withdrawn and muted.

Her _condition_ , as Remus called it, had made Hermione closer to the former Marauders, something that had caused a very unexpected shift in the relationship dynamics inside the dreary house. Up to that point, Harry and Ron had been enthralled by everything about the pair, hanging on their every word and laughing uproariously at their stories and shared jokes. Conversely, Hermione had done everything possible to avoid them. Harry had put it down to her having a crush on Remus, which he had found hilarious, and a slight dislike towards Sirius and his less refined manners. Then, following the bite, she gravitated towards them whenever the trio entered a room, and they, in turn, seemed to welcome her company, including her in their hushed conversations and making protective stances around her whenever they were visited by other members of the Order.

Over that summer Harry noticed a particular closeness between Hermione and Remus, which he supposed he should have expected given the bond of adversity they now shared. He had found them together a few times, sitting and talking in the library, or downstairs in the kitchen when the rest of the inhabitants of the old house were asleep. Despite how unobservant everyone seemed to think he was Harry wasn't blind, and he had begun to suspect some deeper feelings on both sides. It had unsettled him a little at first until one night when he witnessed an exchange that made him realise that he had been a little off course. On a trip to get some water, he had paused at the kitchen door hearing soft murmurings from within. Through the gap he could see that Hermione was crying again, she hadn't made a sound, but her cheeks were damp as she looked out of the window. Harry had nearly walked into the room, but before he could move he noticed Remus behind her, comforting her, their former professor had been running his fingers over the top of her hair in soft, soothing motions. Harry had stalled in the corridor and studied the man's face, Remus' expression looking something similar to how Molly, or even Sirius, looked at him, he knew then that while he had been correct about the _deeper_ feelings, they were rooted in a parental, not romantic way.

Though he had been reassured about the _nature_ of their relationship it had still irritated Harry, something he was now ashamed of. He hadn't realised how much he had come to rely on Hermione begin such an unwavering friend, someone that was always around to listen to him, someone that always sought his advice, not until he had to share her. Remus was the only one Hermione discussed the attack with, she didn't ignore the subject, she couldn't, but with the rest of them she only ever gave broad stroke details. It had hurt Harry's protective instincts, and he had thought about approaching Sirius several times to enquire what he knew, that was until Moody, in his typically blunt fashion, demanded in harsh tones that their ex-professor tell them all of the details during dinner one evening. Remus refused vehemently, his words and stance rigid in a show of anger Harry had never seen from him before. After that Harry kept his questions to himself, though he couldn't help but think that they were both hiding something from him, from everyone. Months passed, and the shock of the initial attack wore off, yet Hermione maintained the haunted look in her eyes, a nervousness settled over her that had never been there before, she was ever watchful, as if she was waiting for something or someone.

Harry was pulled from his reflections by a resounding crash from the ground floor of the small cottage. In an instant, they were all on their feet, but their defensive stances relaxed as soon as they heard Remus swearing. Harry was inclined to believe that the professor's wife's habitual clumsiness was rubbing off on the man, but then he remembered the rush in which they had come up the stairs, there was likely an overturned chair or something blocking the floo.

Not a minute later Remus entered the sparse bedroom and barely pausing he dropped a heavy hand on Harry's shoulder as he approached the bed. Harry studied the man's face as he almost dragged his eyes to Hermione, he both looked like every second of the glance hurt him, as well as being trapped in it, unable to look away.

Remus lowered himself to sit on the side of the bed as Fleur listed out everything they had tried in a series of broken whispers. Her distress wasn't lost on Harry; it was no secret that she had liked Hermione, during the Triwizard she had found his friend's mix of formal support and friendlessness to the other champions amusing, and when Fleur had been taken home by Bill, Hermione had become an unlikely ally. But there was something else, Harry was sure of it. Since they had gotten back to the cottage Fleur had routinely come to rest her eyes on Hermione's bite; there was sadness in her expression that he didn't understand.

After nodding along to Fleur's update Remus checked Hermione over himself, though whether to confirm what she had said or to look for further clues was unclear, he said nothing. His inspection, apart from the gentle cataloguing of marks on her body, included an awful lot of smelling. Ron's own nostrils flared in response, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. Harry himself felt decidedly uncomfortable like he was intruding on something that should have remained private, but he stayed, and he waited.

For a while, nothing could be heard in the room apart from the creaking of the bed as Remus moved and Hermione's laboured breathing. Harry stared at the back of Remus' head, no longer capable of tracking the time that passed though his eyes remained dead ahead. He was directly facing him when Remus eventually turned around, his expression drawn and sallow.

"Harry I know how to fix this, _fix her_ , but you are going to have to trust me."

Harry nodded eagerly, holding back his snap that they _needed to get on with it_ , his chest was so filled with new hope at the man's certainty that he couldn't have cared less why he would have been at all hesitant. He barely noticed the heavy look between Remus and Bill, though he saw the oldest Weasley look grim for a moment before he walked away. Fleur left a few minutes after and Harry thought he could hear a sharply whispered conversation outside of the door, but he could have been mistaken.

None of those left in the diminished bedside vigil made any attempt to speak; there didn't seem to be much point. Harry couldn't share anything about the mission with Remus and that, and the girl in the bed was all that mattered now. He didn't want to think about how they were probably doomed to failure, without Hermione he wasn't sure what to try next.

Scratching the side of his head aggressively Harry tried to think of anything that might help, and then he remembered _the phial_. He stood up quickly, drawing the eyes of those capable of looking as he roughly searched through his trouser pockets, front and back, his fingers finally coming into contact with cool glass.

"She needs to take her Wolfsbane," he said, holding the liquid aloft. Harry felt a sense of loss in handing it over, something he knew Hermione would have laughed at, he had never told her that it meant so much more than he had ever been able to explain.

All that time in the cramped, musty tent had brought all of their grievances, old and new, to the surface. Living in those conditions without the locket would have been tough, with it every minor infraction that had ever existed between the three friends was remembered and magnified until it became an insurmountable obstacle. Harry had found himself, almost against his own volition, confronting Hermione about her silence over her attack, he had raved and yelled until tears misted in her eyes, and he felt sick to his stomach.

When the argument ended they had collapsed against each other, him panting, her thoughtful. "Why is it making it so bad?" he had asked, looking at the locket that was, for a blessed moment at least, resting on the shabby table.

"Because we love each other," Hermione had replied, she had laughed when he stilled. "Not like that."

She had given him the phials after that, Hermione, consummate planner that she was, had brewed enough to keep her going through the hunt, well, at least for however long she had assumed it would take. Harry had asked her once what would happen if she ran out, she had responded, in her own typically matter of fact way that if it lasted till that time her transformation once a month would be the least of their worries.

Hermione had handed over her stash of phials without comment, but Harry had known her intention, she was even worse at hiding her emotions than he was. She had done it to make him feel important, to her, to remind him that he was needed. Harry had wanted to protest, but he hadn't because Hermione had stayed, Hermione had always stayed. So he pocketed them and gave her a lopsided grin.

Harry leant forward extending the phial to Remus' outstretched fingers, but before the other man could safely grab the potion, the door swung open and as Harry turned to look the glass was wrenched from his hand by invisible fingers.

For a moment everything was madness, where there had been quiet, there were shouts and calls reverberating off the walls. Ron reacted far quicker than Harry, his anger closer to the surface despite his shock, though no one was as prepared as the man in the doorway.

Fenrir Greyback stood with his wand still extended from where he had jolted the potion, and Harry leapt to his feet, standing next to Ron, putting themselves between him and Hermione. When faced with yet another new threat it took him a lifetime to realise that in all of the chaos Remus hadn't moved and that Bill was now back in the room pressed into the corner.

With no thought for strategy or survival, Ron charged forward, but he barely got an accusatory word out of his mouth before he was thrown to the side, as if he was no more than a minor irritant, in fact, the savage wolf barely even looked in their direction. His attention was on the bed as he walked towards the centre of the room hardly pausing to allow Remus to move out of the way before he dropped to the floor, hard, his knees vibrating the wooden floorboards as he leant up and pressed his forehead against Hermione's.

"How long has she been like this?" Greyback growled.

His words were directed at Remus, and despite the professor's obvious lingering fear, he clenched his teeth in irritation. "A while."

Fenrir looked as if he would say something else but Hermione made a whimpering sound, and he immediately diverted his attention back to the bed, sitting on the edge and pushing a large hand into her hair.

"Don't touch her," Harry warned, finally regaining control of his body. He raised his wand as his mind filtered through a list of dark spells, ones he hadn't even wanted to think about since he had left Draco Malfoy in a pool of his own blood in an abandoned bathroom, but he had to do this, he had to protect her.

Greyback spun back around and glared at him, his eyes wide and amber. Harry felt every part of his mind scream at him to cower, to make himself smaller but he forced his shoulders back refusing to take his eyes off the huge man as he barked at Remus. "What is he doing here?"

His former professor suddenly looked a hundred years older, as his eyes filled with regret. "I called him Harry," he explained in a tone of total resignation.

"Why would you do that?" Harry yelled, feeling his body stiffen in shock.

"Because… Fenrir is Hermione's mate."

The words brought silence to the room once more, and Harry's mind was reeling. He stilled, falling into the chair behind him as his legs gave out.

"What?"

Harry looked at Remus, but the wolf was looking back at the bed where Fenrir was pushing his nose into Hermione's hair. The wild man looked at her almost… _tenderly_? Harry wasn't sure if he wanted to claw the flesh away from the wolf's face before or after he was violently sick.

It was Ron who spoke up; he had got himself off the floor and moved to stand behind Harry. "What in Merlin's name is going on?"

"Fenrir," Remus tried, but the only answer he received was a low growl. "They have to know eventually," he pressed again, "for Hermione."

Greyback glared at Remus for a long time, but with a clench of his jaw he turned himself around on the bed, just a little, though his eyes never left Hermione and he kept a hand around her wrist.

"I was sent by Umbridge that summer, sent to bite, sent to hurt, sent to kill."

Harry felt shivers run up his spine, Greyback, _they had sent Greyback!_ Hermione had never said, she had insisted she didn't know her attacker, maybe she hadn't at the time, none of them had seen him until the night Dumbledore had died, at least Harry had thought none of them had.

Greyback leant forward to brush a thumb over Hermione's pale cheek. "So I went. I found her in a park, nose buried in a book, it was almost too easy, it wasn't until I got close that I could smell her properly, I knew immediately." He grinned, a look that was somehow more terrifying than his soft gaze before he pressed his lips to Hermione's head. The contact was too much, and Harry made to rush forward, but Remus' expression made him hold his position.

"She wasn't all that happy about it being told she was _mine_ ," Greyback continued, as he moved his head to the side, dislodging his messy shoulder length hair and intentionally showing off a series of scars on his neck that were made up of tiny crescent moons, _fingernails_. Harry felt the familiar sensation of pride for Hermione coursing through his blood. Unarmed and overwhelmed she had marked the wolf, marked him almost as permanently as he had marked her.

If Greyback noticed Harry's emotions he didn't acknowledge it, he was tracing his fingers over the hand that was resting against his leg as he made to continue. "It was time for a change of plan, I couldn't kill her, and I had no intention of leaving her but she refused, and we argued. I didn't want to hurt her but she tried to leave, and I couldn't allow that."

"Then what, you left her there to sort herself out, mission complete?" Harry accused bile rising in his throat as he thought about the blood that was still caked on Hermione's pale skin when she had been found.

Fenrir snarled, a sound that seemed to penetrate the foundations of the house but he didn't' move, his hand still holding on to Hermione, Harry was left with the very firm impression that if it weren't for the wolf's intention to keep that connection, he would have already been dead.

"She couldn't reach for her wand, I had been told she was good, so I had gotten rid of it. I approached her on the ground; the venom was already taking hold, so I made to take her. Only she bit me back."Greyback held up his hand were teeth marks could be viewed.

"Then why are you here? You did what you had to; you cursed her, why come now?" Ron spat, his fingers biting into the back of Harry's chair.

Greyback's still elevated hand curled into a claw, and he opened his mouth to expose his jagged teeth. "She made me promise I wouldn't ever hurt either of you two idiots, don't make me a wolf that has lied to his mate."

"When?" Harry said suddenly, his mind racing to catch up.

"What?" Greyback grunted.

"When did she ask you? When did you give that promise?"

Greyback didn't answer, and so Harry looked at Remus his eyes pleading, the man sighed. "There is a lot you need to be told Harry, but it's not my story to pass on."

Whatever protest Harry was forming was cut off when Fenrir growled, at first Harry thought he was attempting to derail the conversation until Harry noticed he had pulled Hermione's other arm from under the covers and was tracing his furious eyes over the word in her arm. He turned to Remus baring his teeth

"Bellatrix," Remus supplied, in a voice that Harry didn't recognise, it sounded almost as angered as Greyback's howls.

A shuffling in the bed took all of the attention of the room, temporarily pouring water on the mounting tension. Hermione twisted and turned in the bed for a few moments until her eyes flickered open, and she blinked at the ceiling. Harry was on his feet rushing towards her, but Bill came to life just as quickly and gripped him around his torso, holding him back but not pulling him away.

Greyback moved closer up the bed and cupped Hermione's chin, pulling it down gently to meet her heavy lidded gaze. They stared each other for a moment until Hermione tried to speak her words coming out as little more than a rasp.

"What are you doing here?"

Harry started at the familiarity of her voice and was left staring at Hermione like he had never seen her before.

Greyback grinned at her, if that was the right word, the expression looked warped by his long canines. "What have I said about asking questions you already know the answer to?"


	17. Side B: Track 7

_This slice of silliness was written in honour of Kreeblim Sab's birthday and was initially posted on Tumblr, I have expanded this a little since that version. So in this AU, there is no Voldemort, as such the Death Eaters do not exist. However, the same group of people are morally grey and have some degree of organisation among them, coming together in covert ways to disrupt the political process in their favour._

* * *

When there's loving in the air,  
Don't fight it just keep breathing.  
I can't help myself but stare.  
Double check for double meanings.  
I'm a man who's got very specific taste.

Saint Motel - My Type [2014]

* * *

It was the dull throbbing in the side of his head that woke Reuben Yaxley, though if it hadn't been the insistent beating against his temple, it would have been the dryness of his mouth. His eyes opened slowly before instantly shutting again while he released a small groan. The room was far too bright, that and the overpowering smell of cleaning charms could only mean one thing. Some thoughtless twat had decided it was a good idea to bring him to St Mungo's. Reuben bit down on his irritation and took a few 'calming breaths'. Barty had come back from India the year before exalting the mental health benefits of meditation to anyone that would listen, Reuben was decidedly not one of those people. The erratic young man was hardly an advert for the method's success, what with the very perilously grip in which he held his own mental balance. That said, strictly in private, Reuben had found it useful once or twice. It didn't stop him from losing his temper, he seriously doubted anything would, but it moderated his reactions, would have sometimes been called extreme.

Reuben twisted impatiently against the scratchy cotton under him, at least they had got him into moderately respectable pyjamas on this occasion. The last time he had unwillingly been deposited in the hospital Reuben had woken up in nothing but a hospital gown, no amount of rhythmic breathing had been enough to stop him from hexing silly the first Healer that walked through the door. He languidly wondered how bad his injuries must have been for the staff to let him in again, there was talk of a lifetime ban, not that such a thing was indeed enforceable, the Healer just hadn't liked the word 'Arsehole' being emblazoned on his forehead.

Cautiously Yaxley attempted to shift his torso to test the damage; he had merely moved a fraction when the pain that lanced through his sides nearly made him bite through his bottom lip.

"Fuuccck!" he groaned loudly into the room, though the booming curse was muffled by the raspy nature of his throat.

A soft grunt from the side of the too white room registered in the back of his screaming mind and Reuben turned to the side, as quickly as his aching limbs would allow. As his blurring vision slowly focused he could make out Antonin Dolohov sitting rigidly in a small chair. Reuben supposed he should have been comforted, or at least, less angry now that it was evident he hadn't been left here in the care of the moron's alone. However, the broad grin on Antonin's face made him momentarily fear that his brain was irretrievably damaged. Antonin rarely smiled, in fact, the last time he had exhibited a level of joy close to what was currently on his face it was because Lucius had been attacked by one of his peacocks, it seemed unlikely that such a perfect moment would have repeated itself.

"Why did you bring me here?" Reuben asked impatiently.

Antonin defensively folded his arms over his chest and regarded the bed with one eyebrow raised in a silent challenge; his expression said ' _why do you fucking think?_ ' But Reuben was in no mood. He supposed their play by play in the little room would have baffled any of the staff had they happened to be there. His waking had hardly been met with any outpouring of emotion from either party, apart from possible irritation. Antonin was his best friend, and while Reuben was sure the man was happy he wasn't dead there were questions to answer, bringing him here was a risk too many. Their missions had been increasing in boldness of late and had never been anywhere approaching legal in the first place. Healers asked way too many questions for comfort.

"I didn't have much choice," Antonin responded in an unnaturally breezily tone, they had known each other too long for the Russian to be put off by the aggressive way Reuben had spoken to him. "You lost too much blood for even Severus to patch you up."

"I would have been alright," Yaxley protested ignoring how even he didn't fully believe his words.

"You've been out cold for two days," Antonin stated dispassionately, and Reuben stilled before loudly swearing as he felt a soft spot in his ribs and sagged into the covers.

"Well, if I'm in here, and in this state, why are you smiling?"

"Me?" Antonin asked, shuffling in his seat a little uncomfortably, "No reason."

Yaxley's eyes narrowed as Antonin made a production of examining his fingernails, Reuben waited. When they lulled into silence, he hid his suspicions and feigned an attempt at smoothing the covers until Antonin's head fell back a little and Reuben was able to follow his line of sight, somewhat perplexed to see a clock ticking away the seconds until four pm.

He debated asking the stoic man what in the world he was playing at only suddenly there was no time for enquiry as the heavy doors to his room swung open and a small team of Healers bustled in led by possibly the oldest wizard Reuben had ever seen.

None of the 'visitors' paid them any heed at all, not even to introduce themselves. The ancient man moved around the room, his nose slightly aloft, as he consulted the chart behind the bed. Reuben vaguely noticed that he had two 'minions' shuffling behind him, both furiously scratching with quills, only pausing whenever their commander took a laboured breath.

Reuben tried to hold onto his admittedly limited patience, though he could feel it dangerously fraying when the second round of agreeing 'mmms' and 'ahhhs' broke out in a five minute period. He had no interest in being any kind of magical pin cushion for these people, especially if they weren't even going to acknowledge him. He was hardly one to stand on ceremony or to insist on the respect owed by his position in society, but he was used to common civility at the very least, usually more if his reputation for being a bit of an awkward prick had preceded him. Reuben made his best effort to turn to the side, determined to pay the little bunch of clucking hens even less heed than they had him, that was until he noticed Antonin.

Yaxley dropped his head back down to the pillows, giving up on trying to hold himself half up and instantly getting a better view of Antonin's face. His oldest friend was captivated, his unusual fidgeting from minutes before had stilled completely, and his gaze was intense.

Yaxley made some pretence of getting more comfortable and once more, followed his friend's gaze to land on the witch closest to the bed; he hadn't really looked at her when she had first come in. She was slight and short, and he wasn't surprised he hadn't noticed her, her body must have been almost entirely shielded by the relic of a Healer.

Suddenly Reuben wished he had paid a little more attention when they had first walked in. He glanced over the well-fitting white robes she was wearing, but there was no stitched in label displaying her name and specialisation, she must have been a trainee, an observation that gave further credence to her probably being as young as she looked. The unnamed witch had curly hair, of the slightly wild variety that seemed like it belonged to another era. It was piled messily on top of her head, and loose tendrils fell down the back of her neck, bouncing slightly as her shoulders shook with the effort of keeping up her furious note taking.

Reuben unconsciously leaned a little closer, the pain in his side no longer seeming to register with him as he regarded a smudge on the woman's cheek. It was blue, and about the size of a fingerprint. He glanced down quickly noticing a twin mark on her thumb, curiously feeling comforted that she had left the mark there, given how close it was to her full lips. It discomforted him how hard he had to work to suppress the urge to reach forward and wipe it off.

Once the old Healer apparently exhausted himself, he passed the clipboard he had been studying over to the witch the other two men in the room had been watching and promptly began on another topic, heading towards the door. The other junior staff member was scurrying to keep up with the man's extraordinary spry steps.

Yaxley used all of the strength he had remaining in his body to pull himself up against the lumpy cushions at his back, and the woman stepped forward.

"Good Afternoon Mr Yaxley," she greeted brightly with a wide smile, giving him her full attention for the first time since she stepped into the room.

Any reply Reuben would have given was stolen away when Antonin spoke. "Hermione," he greeted roughly, with a slight nod of his head.

"Antonin," the young witch, _Hermione_ , returned with a small, shy smile.

Yaxley suppressed a chuckle; he wondered when the man at his side had discovered that the witch's rounds started at four o'clock and whether he had found out by _strictly_ circumstantial means. Somehow, he doubted it, Antonin could be somewhat… obsessive.

Reuben was disturbed from his thoughts when the witch placed her chart down next to him and rolled back her sleeves, revealing swathes of perfect pale flesh.

"Would you mind if I took your vitals?" she asked, moving to start even before he spoke.

"Yes," he said decidedly, and her head snapped up.

"I'm sorry," she asked, confusion written all over her face.

Reuben was momentarily distracted from his goal when her lips pouted slightly. She was adorable and decidedly too good for the likes of them, which made it all the more fun.

"I said," He replied, eyeing her neutrally, "I would mind."

Her brow crumpled and Yaxley's desire for mischief softened a little, he sighed inwardly, he could see her better now that she was closer, she was really quite lovely. He was actually in a lot more pain than he would own to, and nothing would help as much as a distraction, and there was no better distraction than getting under Antonin's skin.

Bestowing a broad smile at the witch Reuben tilted his head towards the wizard perched on the uncomfortable looking chair by the window. "I would prefer it if _he_ left the room."

Antonin glared, and Reuben felt a light feeling in his centre, _truly the best balm_. "You know me, Antonin," he said with a heavy hand coming to rest against his chest, "modest to a fault."

Hermione took a step back, and Antonin took the opportunity to mouth a few choice phrases in his native tongue in the direction of the bed.

"I'm sorry Antonin," Hermione said, looking at the Russian compassionately, "If Mr Yaxley would prefer this to be done in private I will have to ask you to leave."

"But-" Dolohov made to protest, but Hermione cut him off.

"-I understand your concern for your friend, but I assure you he is in excellent hands."

"And what lovely hands they are," Reuben muttered under his breath.

Antonin, clearly sensing a temporary defeat stalked from the room, not before accidentally _on purpose_ jostling the end of the bed, hard, causing Reuben to swallow an oath.

Reuben allowed himself a smirk as the doors to his room swung closed and with a quick brush against his jaw to assess the state of his stubble he acted quickly, pushing his hands under the covers to find the hem he needed to begin pulling his shirt off, only to be interrupted by a slightly flustered trainee Healer.

"Mr Yaxley," she began with pink cheeks, "you don't actually need to remove any clothing for the exam." He ignored her. "It doesn't make any difference," she pressed, averting her eyes.

Reuben paused his movements, with one arm out of the long white sleeve someone had evidently placed him in, momentarily wondered if it was her. "You've tested it?" he asked, his eyes coming to rest on her uncomfortable face.

The witch puffed up for a minute, clearly ready to answer any questions a patient would have until her head cocked to the side and she deflated. "Well, no."

"So, you don't know if it might help?"

She grit her teeth and Reuben fought back a smirk before returning to complete his action, enjoying greatly how the gentle dusting of pink on her cheeks darkened. In the process, he also got the first good look at his side, which was a decidedly less attractive array of colours than the Healer's face. He was going to murder Selwyn when he got out of there that batch of explosives was far too volatile to have been rushed around with, and Ade had told him they were stable enough for him to break into a run.

Apparently beginning to compose herself, the witch walked forward and began to move her wand over his chest occasionally pausing to jot something down. The concentration on her face looked calmer than the pinch looked she had during her aggressive note taking earlier, and Yaxley found he forgot a little about the irritated Russian, no doubt directly on the other side of the door, and began to watch her hands. Her presence was strangely comforting, and in even if she hadn't been anywhere near as beautiful she would still have been a vast improvement on being treated by a reluctant Severus the morning after.

"Mr Yaxley," she said at last, and Reuben suppressed his reaction to the nature of her address, especially her incredibly polite tone, realising that he was stuck between a hospital bed and an increasingly hard place. He wondered if he would prefer her to continue addressing him like that, he quite enjoyed the formality, it implied a level of submissiveness that the glimmer in her eyes told him was erroneous, but, on the other hand, he found he also wanted to hear his name coming from her lips.

"Reuben," he said finally.

"I'm sorry," she enquired, looking up from her notes.

"My name is Reuben," he clarified in a low, commanding tone, she blushed again.

"Thank you, Reuben," she replied in a slightly strangled voice, "I'm Healer Granger."

"You wound me, Miss Granger," he declared with mock affront though he was internally congratulating himself on still having enough of a way with women to still be able to affect someone as young and beautiful as she was. ' _Manner's_ ' his father's voice chimed in the back of his mind, ' _Manners are always important to a lady, such a small thing, and yet so often overlooked_.'

"Might I call you by your first name?" he enquired cordially, and Healer Granger began to twist her quill between her fingers.

"We aren't supposed to," she supplied in a whisper and Yaxley looked over to the side of the room where Antonin had been sat.

"My friend-" he began, but he was cut off.

"-You are a patient," she clarified, "there are protocols I have to follow."

"Well, we wouldn't want to get you in trouble, would we?" he replied silkily, and her posture stiffened slightly.

"I suppose you think I'm an incredibly dull person," she said primly on an exhale, "you don't strike me as someone that follows the rules very often."

Yaxley couldn't help the somewhat predatory look that crept across his face, "Not at all, _Healer Granger_ , if you get to know me better I think you'll find I have a more than healthy appreciation for a witch that can follow appropriate rules."

There was a soft clatter, and Reuben looked down to see the clipboard the witch had been holding so tightly her knuckles had begun to turn white on the floor.

When she hastily back up, distractedly pulling on the corner of her skirt, she coughed lightly for a moment and then bade that he turned over, which he did, happily.

Hermione ran her wand followed by her cold fingers over his back, checking patches of his skin for sensitivity. When she reached the waistband of his pyjama trousers, the likes of which he hadn't won since he was probably the girl's age, he had to push his head into the uncomfortable pillow to stop himself from asking her to drift lower still.

Pain in the base of his spine had him wincing; the agony moved his thoughts back to his original purpose. As the witch apologised, in the most pleasurable, agonisingly, gracious way, she applied a cooling charm against his back, and he boomed his voice to the loudest volume he could achieve.

"Oh, _Healer Granger_ , that's perfect."

Not even a whole second later Antonin burst back into the room looking like thunder.

Reuben smiled to himself; he was going to be out of here in no time, he felt better already.

* * *

The next day, after another night on the unbelievably uncomfortable hospital cot, Reuben managed to wake without feeling irritation eating away at him, though it was a close run thing. After her observations had been completed the day before, under Antonin's watchful gaze, Hermione had hesitating decreed that he needed to stay in for a few more days. When Reuben made to protest the young witch's demeanour hardened instantly, something he had not expected from her incredibly compliant behaviour up to that point. Once Hermione had finally left the room to complete the rest of her rounds Antonin had started at Yaxley for a full silent minute before he punched him in the arm apparently as hard as he possibly could. Despite the pain, it had only made Reuben grin wider.

As he twisted, he took in the sounds of the hospital leaking in through the double doors and flexed his legs to gauge the healing in his side. At last, he rolled his head languidly to the side only to blink twice when he realised that Theodore Nott was there, occupying the uncomfortable seat by the window. The wizard's presence had certainly not been required by him, and unless Yaxley was completely mistaken the young heir already had his 'orders' for the next few days.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Reuben barked, beyond annoyed to be taken by surprise.

"Civilised as ever I see," the boy replied with an amused sigh before closing his book with practised grace. "Dolohov sent me," he clarified, looking at the man in the bed out of the corner of his eye. "I'm supposed to be your _guard dog_ for the day."

Yaxley looked over at the young man's chiselled face and dark eyes and allowed himself ten uninterrupted seconds of intense rage before all ill feeling within him subsided so quickly he released a hearty chuckle.

 _Well played Antonin, you devious fucker._

Reuben considered that he really should have seen this coming, Antonin was hardly one to take a turn of events like yesterday lying done. Had he been any other obstacle he was sure his old friend would have reacted more aggressively, by comparison, this was almost funny. _Almost_.

The Russian could have sent any number of people to sit by his side that day, Reuben, for himself would have probably sent someone likely to irritate and therefore derail his plans for the witch, Antonin had decided to play for someone who might tempt the witch's interest. Young Theo, Yaxley could begrudgingly admit, was something of a masterstroke. The boy exhibited a lot of the same qualities himself and Antonin had when they were younger and yet there was something about him that stood out all on his own. Nott was sarcastic, smart, cultured and ruthless. Up to this point, Reuben had almost liked him.

Deciding small talk was unnecessarily Yaxley laid onto his back again, he debated ordering Theo to leave the room to get him a passable coffee, but it didn't seem worth it. He wasn't sure how much Antonin had told, ergo he couldn't be certain how much he would be showing his hand if he asked the kid to leave.

His deliberations didn't last long, Hermione had certainly been right about his lack of energy reserves, however loathe Reuben was to admit it. Not long after waking he fell back to sleep only to be woken up by the curly haired witch he had been pondering who had appeared in his room without the entourage this time and bestowed a smile on him.

"And how are we today Mr Yaxley?" she asked.

" _We_ are fine," he replied shortly, and Hermione turned towards the window.

"Nott," she greeted almost cautiously.

"Granger," Theo replied though Yaxley didn't miss the sweep of the wizard's eyes made over the Healer. He knocked his fist against the side of the bed in warning.

Hermione rounded the bed, clipboard in hand and eyed Theo warily. "How are you?"

"I'm very well, _Healer_ Granger," Theo replied with a soft smirk, sitting further back into his seat. "May I say how wonderful it is to see you today?"

Hermione looked momentarily stunned, "It is?"

"Why certainly," Theo answered with a broad grin. "Just think, after seven years of seeing you in nothing but a school uniform, the next time I see you, healing robes, lucky me."

"Mr Nott," Hermione cut in, and Reuben twisted his hands into his bed sheets.

She had started to do that sputtering thing she had done with him only the day before, and Yaxley resolved that the next time his 'associates' did anything that had a truly _shit_ competent, Theodore Nott would be signing himself right up.

* * *

After a pretty serious talk with Nott, Reuben awoke on the third day of his hospital stay to find that Antonin was back, looking decidedly too happy. The Russian folded his arms over his chest and eyed the man in the bed knowingly. "How long do you intend to stay here for?"

"A few more days she said," Reuben answered absentmindedly. He didn't bother stating who he meant, they both knew.

Antonin walked over to the end of the bed and pulled out the notes that had been left there. "When have you ever listened to Healers or trainee Healers come to that?"

Reuben didn't dignify the question with a response. True, typically he would have been keener to leave, but he had been severely hurt, there was no harm in making sure he was completely recovered before he left. Was there?

At four pm on the dot both their heads turned towards the door only to be greeted by a scrawny looking kid with dark rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose. The unknown, unwelcome, Healer grinned widely as he adjusted the light levels in the room and flicked through Reuben's chart.

"Good Afternoon, Mr… Yaxley," he said, finding the name and nodding as he moved through the details. Reuben had looked through the sheets himself more than once. "I am Healer Boot, and it's time to take your vitals."

"No," Yaxley responded immediately, shooting the Healer a disinterested look as he pulled the covers around himself.

"Now, now," the boy started, "It's nothing to be afraid of."

Antonin snorted, and Reuben immediately sat himself up on the bed. "I said no," he all but growled, losing patience by the second.

"I appreciate your reticence Mr Yaxley, but looking at your chart you are due for discharge soon if you want to leave we need to do this," he said, sounding as if he was speaking to a small child.

Reuben was unmoved. "No fucking chance kid."

"I'm sorry?" Healer Boot exclaimed taking a step back and placing a hand on his hip.

Yaxley had had quite enough of people he didn't want to see entering his room. In one swift movement, he swung his feet down to the floor and drew himself up to his full height, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his side.

Healer Boot seemed to understand the potential danger he was in immediately, Yaxley's shadow had barely fallen over him before he reached into his robes and pressed his panic button. Reuben stepped back as the Merlin awful sound wailed through the corridors and the double doors swung open again to reveal the Head Healer, the last time he and Yaxley had seen each other hexes had been exchanged.

"Ah, Mr Yaxley, we meet again."

"Healer Pye," Reuben replied.

"What seems to be the problem here?"

Reuben stalked towards Boot, and he ran off into the corner. "I want Healer Granger," he said through gritted teeth.

Healer Pye's face hardened. "Hermione is indisposed."

"Indisposed how?"

"That's none of your business," Healer Pye responded officiously and Reuben bit the inside of his mouth.

 _He was going to make it his fucking business._

* * *

When four pm rolled around the next day Reuben was blissfully alone in his room, reading himself to go home with the stuff that had been given back to him. He wasn't paying attention to the clock, or at least he told himself he wasn't, though he wasn't surprised when Healer Granger walked in.

"Hello Mr Yaxley," she called brightly, stepping over to where he was and looking up at him expectantly.

He had thought about being standoffish with her after her disappearance yesterday, not that such a thing was her fault. But Reuben found that he couldn't, not with her standing in front of him grinning. He had known she was tiny, but for the first time he fully registered their height differences, it was all he could do not to pull her under his chin.

"Decided to show up did you?"

She blushed a little though her eyes looked full of amusement. "I heard there was something of a disturbance yesterday," she said in a teasing tone as she picked up some paperwork and began signing various pages.

Reuben gave her a look of complete innocence. "I have no idea what you mean."

"Is that so?" she replied, not looking up from her work. "Healer Boot suggested that you might have wished for me to be there, to perform the exam."

Reuben snorted. "Healer Boot didn't seem like much of a competent Healer to me."

"Based on what?" she snapped, and he hid his grin, it was fun to wind her up.

Reuben stepped forward until he was looming over her again. "Did you know he thought you had to leave your shirt on for an exam? I'm an important man, Healer Granger; I can't afford to be worked on by the ill-informed."

She tried to suppress her smile by biting her lip, but she wasn't wholly successful. "I suppose not." She looked at him for a moment and then seemed to remember her purpose. "Your discharge papers."

As she handed them over Reuben reached for them, and their fingers met for just a moment. Her skin was so incredibly warm; it was no wonder she had gone into the healing profession, one touch had him feeling improved.

"Goodbye Mr Yaxley," she quietly uttered as she took a step back.

He was having none of that. He slung his bag over his shoulder before gripping her hip and pulling her forward. "Reuben," he whispered in her ear, enjoying how he could feel her tremor under his hold. Her breath hitched, and he grinned widely. "I'm not your patient anymore."


End file.
